A Man of Iron
by Mr. Chaos
Summary: Antony 'Tony' Stark is the arrogant cousin of Ned Stark whose made his fortune crafting fine weapons for the lords of Westeros. Tony leads a joyful life, doing what he pleases and leaving the politics of the realm to others. But when violent attack nearly ends his life, Tony decides to take action and creates a hero for the people to rally around... a knight known as Iron Man.
1. Catelyn I, Arya I

_**Catelyn**_

Jon Arryn was dead and King Robert rode to Winterfell.

All of Winterfell, from the youngest stableboy to the oldest knight had put away other issues and tasks and focused on preparing for the royal family's arrival. Food had to be gathered, guest chambers prepped, and candles sought out to light the great hall. She had met with Maester Luwin at least a dozen times, discussing the special preparations that would be needed for the royal family. Lord Tyrion liked to read at night, so candles would be needed. Queen Cersei preferred a perfume from the Reach to scent her bath water. The Kingslayer would need at least six training dummies that could stand up to his attacks.

It was a trying, emotional time, and was made all the worse for the reason King Robert traveled to the North.

Ned had tried his hardest to hide his feelings; Catelyn knew that grief and fear had settled themselves upon his broad shoulders. It was funny to think of her Ned as anything but brave and she knew that to many in Winterfell such an emotion was thought to be foreign to him. He was the rock that they all grasped onto and used to balance themselves. Lord Eddard Stark did not tremble with fright. He'd marched into King Aerys' throne room not knowing what he would find. It was Ned who helped lead the charge that saw the Ironborn brought to heel after their failed rebellion. It was he who observed the old ways and swung the sword when delivering the greatest of punishments. There were some in Winterfell that whispered that their Lord had purged all negative emotions from his body, unable to comprehend such things as fear and sadness.

And yet he felt just as any other man did. His mourned for Lord Arryn, to whom he owed his very life and had been, during those dark times, a second father to him. Ned owed so very much to him; Had the Lord of the Vale simply shipped Ned and Robert to King Aerys in chains the Vale would have been made wealthy and House Stark would be extinct. There were some that claimed Lord Arryn protected the two in fear that the North and the Stormlands would unite against him for killing their lords and the crown would have been happy to let blame fall to another. Ned though knew that Jon Arryn had protected him out of both duty and honor.

The fear he felt was from the knowledge that Robert did not travel North merely to share his sorrow with Ned. The Hand of the King was dead and a new one had not yet been appointed, meaning that Robert sought Ned to take the position. They had been inseparable in youth and Catelyn sometimes wondered if their family would have stayed in King's Landing had Ned made it there first and prevented the Lannisters from sacking the city. That event had driven a wedge between the two men, brothers in all but blood, and saw Ned return to the North. Robert needed a hand though and age, Catelyn though, drove him to look to the past and old friendships.

It was the worst thing that could happen to her family; anyone else and Ned would have been able to find some excuse not to go. Robert was his friend though and that meant that Ned's sense of honor and loyalty would prevent him from turning the King away, despite how much he want to.

The fear of what Robert brought with him prayed on Catelyn's mind as well, though for different reasons. Twice already Robert had taken her Ned away. The first time he'd returned with that damn bastard. The second with Theon, who might as well have been a bastard himself.

'_I am loathe to consider just who or what Ned might bring back with him a third time.'_

Catelyn strove to forget about her own fears and worries by focusing on the tasks that still needed to be completed. Work was a wonderful balm for an aching soul and the Lady of Winterfell found it hard to focus on what would come of the visit while pouring her energies into prepping for it.

She had just gotten done inspecting the chamber that would house Prince Joffrey when Ned came upon her, a small scroll clutched in his fist.

"What is it?" Catelyn asked. "Has something delayed the King?" _'Is he not coming?' _she thought, knowing better than to voice those words.

Ned merely shook his head, his jaw stiff and set. "No... it isn't from the king." He ran his fingers through his long, dark hair, clearly agitated. "It's from Antony. He's come to Winterfell."

Catelyn looked at her husband in disbelief. "Now? We must send a raven back to him, let him know that it isn't possible! The king-"

"The King is the reason he is coming," Ned groaned. "He wishes to speak with him and sees this as a chance to see us once more."

Catelyn pursed her lips. "Of course. Never mind that we will be entertaining the king, his family, the queen's brothers, and members of court... now we will have Antony and his household to put up with." She shook her head in frustration. "Does that arrogant man ever think of others?"

Ned clearly did not like the prospect of Antony arriving at the same time as the king. "I could send the raven, tell him that we can not house him."

Catelyn looked at Ned, shoulders slumped. She knew he would do it, if she begged, but it would bring shame upon him and his house to be so rude to family. "You know you can't do that. He most likely already sent a raven to the king, informing him of his arrival." _'Knowing Antony, he has worded it so that Robert thinks we suggested the idea.'_ Catelyn thought to herself. "No... no, we will just have to make due."

"At least it will be a small group," Ned stated. "If we are lucky, no more than a handful."

"He is a handful by himself." Catelyn let out a huff of air. "I know he is family Ned but-"

"Cat, he's only family because he shares my name."

That was true enough. Antony 'Tony' Stark was Ned's cousin but barely resembled Ned in looks and not at all in personality. His father, Horard Stark, had died young and rather than take up his role as Lord of the small family keep Tony had journeyed to the Westerlands, seeking fame and riches. He'd finally settled a day's ride north of Lannisport and discovered a mine of his own. While the Lannisters had gained their wealth through the gold that run deep under Casterly Rock Tony had built his fortune on the many different types of iron he was able to mine. Soon blacksmiths and metalworkers had journeyed to the abandoned castle Tony had renamed Iron Pointe and made their community the greatest source of weaponry in all of Westeros. Lords from the Reach and Dorne and across the Narrow Sea all sought out swords and shields made in Iron Pointe... and none fetched a greater price than those handcrafted by Lord Tony Stark himself.

Catelyn begrudgingly admitted that his creations were beautiful. The great mines of Iron Pointe produced metals of many different brilliant colors, so that a knight need not paint their sigil upon a shield or decorate their armor with their family colors. Tony created spears of blue and black and arrowheads that looked like emeralds. Smiths in King's Landing and other cities attempted to mimic Tony's work but all failed to achieve the wonder of his creations. Thus his fame and wealth grew and with them his ability to forge his own path. Tony was able to select his customers, no longer needed to take on any work he could get in order to procure gold dragons. Cat had heard of him turning down offers from many great houses purely because the project they wished him to work on did not challenge him.

If that were the extent of his ego then all would have been well. But Tony was arrogant and vain, seeing himself as an artist who could move about a room doing and saying what he wanted. He was brilliant, talented and skilled; women wanted to bed him and men wanted to boast that they had drank with him. He had all the vanity of Jamie Lannister and the vices of Tyrion. He scoffed at the old ways and didn't care about the shame he brought upon his ancestors with his actions. He held no belief in the Seven or the old gods and made no attempt to hide his blasphemy. Catelyn had only met him four times since her marriage to Ned: once after the war that sat Robert on the throne, 6 months before the Greyjoy Rebellion, and two quick visits after Rickon had been born. Each time Catelyn had found that the charm Tony was famous for did not work upon her and he appeared to be little more than a braying donkey demanding attention.

'_A donkey would at least be useful,' _she thought.

Ned gathered her in his arms and held her close, his calloused hands running along her back. "Hopefully it will be a short visit. He only said he wanted to come while the king was here... he might have an appointment at the Wall and won't tarry."

Catelyn doubted that. Tony hadn't needed to sell weapons to the Night's Watch since he was eight-and-twenty. "Perhaps," she murmured.

"Perhaps we'll get lucky and the Lannisters and Antony will be at each other's throats and leave us be," Ned said with a smile.

Catelyn chuckled at that. "The Seven be willing."

* * *

_**Arya**_

"I still don't see why we have to stand out here."

Sansa glared down at her little sister. Unlike Arya, who was shifting from foot to foot, kicking at clumps of mud and forever twisting her head this way and that, Sansa was an example of the perfect Lord's daughter: her back was straight and her head held high."It is proper. Would you have cousin Antony arrive to find all of Winterfell empty and his arrival unannounced?"

"The king and queen aren't out here," Arya said with a huff, crossing her arms over her chest. "They get to stay inside."

"They are the king and queen! Cousin Antony is only a lord... and not even a Warden like father." Sansa reached over and yanked on Arya's arms. "And stop doing that! A proper lady doesn't cross her arms."

Arya narrowed her eyes, nose flared slightly. She hated how Sansa acted like she was her mother and could belittle her and order her about. Arya did not understand why the world believed that just because someone was older than her that made them smarter. Her father and mother were smart of course, and so was Robb and Jon, but not all adults were intelligent. Hodor could only say his own name and Arya thought her septa was a fool, prattling on about useless things like knitting and weaving. Sansa was even worse, acting at times like she was still 4-years old playing pretend. Her head was filled with clouds and dreams of brave knights that would sweep her off her feet. Arya was quite happy to do her own sweeping.

"Arya-"

Arya stubbornly kept her arms crossed. "Touch me again and I'll... I'll bite you!" she hissed, low enough so no one else could hear her.

"Mother!" Sansa hissed, utterly scandalized.

"Sansa, shhh!" their mother shushed. "Lord Antony is arriving."

"But-"

"Sansa, not now!"

Arya smirked to herself; the battle had gone to her. She glanced out of the corner of her eye at Sansa, who looked fit to be tied, and brought her arms to her sides, adopting a long of serene bliss. Sansa gapped at her before setting her jaw and staring ahead, her fingers clenching open and shut. The youngest Stark girl put all thoughts of her sister out of her head and focused on the arrival of Lord Antony Stark and his host.

She'd only been five when Antony Stark had last visited and Arya did not have many memories of that visit. Still, she knew plenty about him and wanted desperately to meet him and see if he lived up to all the whispered rumors the servants passed amongst each other. They said that Antony was a rogue and a scoundrel and nothing at all like the Lord of Winterfell, which made Arya feel a connection to him. She too didn't feel like a proper Stark and wondered if, as a boy, Antony felt separated from things as she did.

The first of the men to arrive was Hogan on his giant stallion. He was only a head shorter than Hodor but just as thick and strong as the gentle giant, though his face was grim and heavy brow forever furrowed. He slid out of his saddle, his heavy boots sinking in the mud of the main courtyard.

"Why do they call him 'Happy'?" Bran whispered. "He doesn't look happy to me."

"It's a joke," Arya stated, rolling her eyes. "Like calling a fat man Tiny or a tall man Little." She watched as Hogan strode forward, looking about Winterfell as if he expected an attack to be launched at them. She'd heard that Hogan had been a sellsword before Lord Antony had employed him to be his shield and that the man was forever looking out for danger. "They say he never smiles and looks upon everyone as a potential threat." Once Hogan was sure that all was ok he lifted the banner he'd been carrying and waved it in the air, signaling the rest of the riders to enter.

"Disgraceful," someone murmured behind Arya. The young girl understood why some in Winterfell were upset: while Lord Antony used the direwolf as his sigil, his was colored red and gold, making it look more fitting for the Lannisters than the Starks. Jon had said that Antony was honoring both his family and the House that had allowed him to make his fortune, for it was Lord Tywin that had given his permission for Antony to open the mines of Iron Pointe, but it appeared that there were those in Winterfell who viewed such actions as a slap in the face of Arya's father.

With Hogan's signal Antony's group began to ride in. Arya grinned as she spotted Ser Jamie Rhodes, the commander of Lord Antony's soldiers. He was a tall, lean, dark skinned man who hailed from across the Narrow Sea. Arya had heard all manner of stories about him, such that he was a former Horselord who had pledged himself to Lord Antony or that he was a disgraced member of the Second Sons, trying to regain his honor. All Arya knew was that in his deep blue vest, coat, and pants and white shirt he made for an impressive sight. He got off his steed and strokes his neck, turning enough to allow Arya to see the sword slung over his back. He wore two more short swords, one on each hip, but one of the servants had told Arya that Ser Jamie Rhodes preferred his shoulder sword to do his work.

Another murmur rose up as Maester Jarvis was next to arrive. It was almost unheard of for a maester to leave the castle he'd been assigned to but then again if half the things Arya had heard about the seemingly sweet looking old man were true then Maester Jarvis was far from being a normal maester. One of the cooks had told her that Jarvis had nearly lost his chain for studying the deeper magics; he was one of the very few maesters in Westeros to have a ring of Valyrian steel and he was forever seeking out old tomes and forgotten scrolls in the search for new magics.

A covered wagon rolled forth, similar to the one that had carried the queen and the young prince and princess, and from it emerged Lord Antony's wife, Lady Vyrgina Stark. Arya had heard that she was beautiful and a few of the servants had compared her to Lady Sansa; Arya begrudging admitted they were right. This Lady Stark was tall and lithe, with red hair that hung down to her shoulder blades and wide, bright eyes. A heavy white cloak covered her shoulders but instead of making her look bulky it only showcased her lean form. Of all the members of Antony's house, Vygina was the only one to meet universal approval among those of Winterfell. She looked exactly as a Lady of House Stark should.

The last to ride in was Lord Antony Stark himself, sitting gallantly upon his stallion. Looking upon her father's cousin Arya quickly came to the conclusion that Lord Antony looked like a blend of Stark and Lannister, which she supposed helped him fit in better in the Westerlands. He had the dark hair of the Starks but his frame was lean and he wasn't overly tall like Arya's father. His moments were fluid like the Kingslayer but his face resembled Jon's greatly to the fact that one could have thought them father and son. Lord Antony wore his beard very short and so neatly trimmed Arya wondered if he shaved every few hours. He wore dark clothing and a black fur cloak but there were hints of red that peeked out from the dark material. A sword was strapped to his side though it was nowhere near the size of her father's sword common sword, let along the great sword Ice.

"Ned!" Antony called out, swinging out of his saddle gracefully. He took a moment to adjust the short jacket he wore before striding forward, looking about courtyard with a smirk on his face. As he strolled forward he moved his head and his hands about, as if he were afraid to stop moving lest he turn to stone. "You know, I always tell myself that I remember every detail of Winterfell but when I get here I find that my memory is completely faulty. Guess there are some things that can't be remembered and can only be experienced."

Arya was surprised by the way Antony spoke; it was the slow, careful way her father conversed, like he was weighing each word to ensure he did not waste a single letter. Lord Antony's speech was fast and energenic, words falling off his tongue at a pace that made it hard for one to follow a conversation if they weren't dedicating all their attention upon Antony.

The Lord of Iron Pointe shook Ned's hand and turned to Catelyn. "I see you're still with this gloomy grump. I'd have thought you'd have run off to Riverrun by now. I kid, I kid, good to see you, Cat." Antony kissed Catelyn's hand, ignoring the frown that graced the Lady of Winterfell's features.

"Antony," she said coolly.

"Really? Antony? Really? No 'Tony' or 'Ton' or 'T'? Really that upset about the joke? Sorry, forget that I can be a... hmm..." He snapped his fingers towards the dark knight. "Rhodey, what's the word I'm looking for?"

"Asshole?" Ser Rhodes supplied.

"Hmmm... no, not the one I was looking for but it fits. Anyway, ignore me most times, you'll find yourself living longer and give you less wrinkles from frowning at my jests." Like a whirlwind Antony was already moving on to Robb, leaving Catelyn fuming and Arya doing her best not to giggle. "Oh, look at you! Last time I saw you Robb you I could pick you up and set you on a high cabinet. Studying well? Learning how to be a Lord and be all gloomy and boring?" Robb looked as if he couldn't decide if he should scowl or laugh and Antony clapped him on the shoulder. "Still have a lot to learn, I see. The cold hasn't frozen your sense of humor just yet. Now then, who is missing…" He raised his hand up, placing it near Robb's head, then drew it to the left, just over Sansa's head. "Nope, sorry beautiful, you aren't next. Looking for someone a bit less…girly. Where is Jon Stark?"

"Snow," Catelyn bit out, trembling with outrage. "Jon… Snow." Ser Rodrick and a few other citizens of Winterfell grumbled under their breath, disgusted by the dishonor Lord Antony showed Lady Stark by bringing up the bastard and daring to put him on the same level as her children.

Antony, however, didn't pay them any heed. "See, I never got that. Why the goofy last names for bastards? Snow, Sand, Waters, Storm? Half of Westeros is made up of bastards and personally, and this is just me speaking, I would think it smart NOT to piss them off by, I don't know, giving them different last names and treating them like crap because their fathers stuck it in a strange woman. They might decide one day that they are sick of being insulted for something that isn't their fault and rise up in revolt. Kinda ass backwards thinking not playing nice with them and all that but what do I know, I'm not a Warden… I'm just a rich genius who cares about others. No offense, Ned. Now, where is Jon?"

"I am here, Lord Stark," Jon said, stepping forward.

"Him too?" Antony turned to his wife, who merely smiled at his annoyance. "Ok, I'm convinced there is something in the air around here, something that makes all of you formal and grouchy. Pepper, try breathing through a rag or something, ok?"

"Tony…" she said with a smile, though her tone was as icy as the Wall. "Be… nice."

Antony rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to Jon. "You look well." He patted him on the shoulders, much as he had Robb. He leaned in close and Arya strained to hear his words. "Next time I come, you tell them all that I want you standing right at the head of the line. The world is always going to want to shove you down but that is no excuse for going along with it. You fight back like the direwolf and you let them know you are better than them." Jon managed a nod at that and Antony smiled, though only Arya noticed the quick glance he sent her mother's way. There was a story that and she wanted to know more.

Arya tuned out the pleasant words that Antony shared with Sansa, knowing they were all about her beauty and grace and how she was a fine young lady. Instead, she mulled over the man himself and found that her opinion of him was most assuredly the opposite of her mother's. Antony was brash and rude and quick with a jest. He was not the stern northern lord her father was and eldest brother aspired to be. But Arya was fine with that, because she herself wasn't like the rest of her family either.

"And why are you smiling?" Antony asked, looking down at her. "Thinking about all the rumors you've heard about me and wondering if they are true. Most of them are… except that thing about the pig and the dress. I'll have you know it was a cow."

"I heard it was a horse," Arya said with a smirk.

"Arya!" Catelyn snapped.

"Someone from Winterfell who hasn't had their humor sucked away!" Antony said with a laugh. "Wonderful! You're sitting next me at dinner tonight."

Arya's face broke wide with a grin and she could hear Sansa letting out little 'tut-tuts' of disbelief. She chanced a peek at the rest of her family and saw that Robb and Jon were both fighting back laughter while her father did his best to keep her mother from pouncing on Antony and throwing him out of their home with her own bare hands.

"I think your mother doesn't like me," Antony said with a wink before looking right at Catelyn. "Her and Jon. The three of us can sup with the king. It will make for some wonderful conversation." Sansa nearly fainted at that and Antony's wife let out a long suffering sigh.

Arya, meanwhile, quickly decided that Antony was her new favorite relative.

~MC~MC~MC~

Next Time: Tony meets with King Robert to reveal a new venture that could benefit Westeros… and bring the wrath of some very powerful players upon his head. Also, there is a banquet, Benjen arrives, and the Lannisters meet up with Tony and his family.

~MC~MC~MC~

Author's Notes: As if I don't have enough on my plate, this one has been tickling the back of my brain for the last day and a half and demanded to be written. There are plenty of jokes online about Tony being a lost member of the Stark family and I think some people have written a few stories about it. The problem is that I know exactly what I want to read and I doubt anyone has really done a story like what I am going to attempt here.

I was also inspired by 'The House of Wayne', a brilliant story that took Bruce Wayne and put him, and Gotham, in Westeros. That story, combined with the same principles I used for the "Harry Potter Pokémon Master" series led to this: taking Tony and his cast of characters and applying them to the world and rules of Westeros.

A few minor notes: It does annoy me that people use normal names when importing characters into this world. It is so jarring to see Kevans and Joffreys… then read about Bills and Mikes. Thus, in the spirit of Mr. Martin, I took character names and altered/deleted letters to create their Westeros names. Luckily, Tony, Pepper and Rhodey all have nicknames that can stay the same.

Second, probably the biggest alteration here is making Pepper be married to Tony. Honestly, I couldn't think of a good way to include her otherwise. You can't make Pepper a whore and it would make no sense for a Lord to have a female servant running around snarking at him. Make her his wife, however… now things get interesting. Plus, I like Tony in a relationship with her.

Third, as of right now there is no plan for the Avengers to show up, mainly because it would be simply too large of a project to include them. That said, for those interested, here is how I see them in the Westeros world: Captain America would become Ser Roggers, a legendary member of the Night's Watch from the time of Aegon who was lost in the North. He would awaken a wight during the 'modern' time, but keep his mind, thus having the strength and power of the wight but the heroic nature of a man, making him VERY dangerous. Thor would be Thor, cast down from Asgard to Westeros as punishment for hubris and discovered by a woman in Dorne. Hulk… the only thought that comes to mind would he would be an attempt by the sorcerers across the Narrow Sea to create the ultimate warrior.

There is a chance Black Widow could appear in this story, as could Hawkeye.

Finally, a question I will pose to all of you: if you could pick only one member of the Stark family to join Tony's household, who would you pick and why? I have some ideas for this, as I want a Stark child to be involved with Tony's adventures, but want to get opinions.


	2. Tony I

_**Tony**_

Winterfell. The great Northern Keep. It was the seat of power in the North and the stronghold of the Starks for countless ages. Raised by Bran the Builder during the Age of Heroes, it had been first the home of the Kings of Winter and then the Wardens of the North. It had stood when other great castles fell and had weathered countless winters, never changing. Day after day, year after year, century after century it had remained, steadfast against a forever changing world, a beacon to those in the North to look upon and hold close to their hearts.

'_They should tear this damn thing apart stone by stone,'_ Tony thought to himself.

As he walked into the Great Hall he wondered if Bran the Builder, in whatever part of the afterlife he was in, looked upon the castle he'd built and shook his head in disgust. Tony knew he would, if he had been its creator. Like Bran Tony was an innovator, striving to create new and better things. Bran had built the Wall and Winterfell and legend said that he'd had a hand in creating Storm's End as well. He had done things no man before him had done and created structures that had stood the test of time. That was all well and good and he was sure Bran was happy that people still loved his works, but Tony would never believe that Bran would have wanted Winterfell to become so static. Just because you finished with something didn't mean it had to remain as it was. Ned and his family should have pushed on, repairing and updating the castle till it looked nothing like the Winterfell of old. That would honor Bran's legacy better, to take what he had built and make it stronger, to continue the tradition their forefather had started. Leaving it as it was now was a slap in the great man's face.

That was the problem with the Starks: they were too rooted in the past. They clung to their yesterdays and wrapped themselves in it like those black cloaks they so enjoyed wearing. They still held to their old customs and their old weapons and even their old gods. They even used the same flags until they were so thread-bare that they looked like ghost-banners. It wasn't a matter of cost as much as them trying to 'honor tradition'.

'_And where did honor get them?'_ Tony thought. Unlike his cousins he had sought of new roads for progress and had been rewarded grandly. No Stark had journeyed South as he had and now he was one of the wealthiest lords in the Seven Kingdoms. Iron Pointe was the envy of many and he was well respected by his peers. He had supped with Tywin Lannister and Mace Tyrell and Princes of Dorne. What of Ned Stark and the rest? If Robert's Rebellion had never happened the Starks would be seen as lesser Wardens of little importance to the lower kingdoms. It was only the rebellion that saw them gain any sense of power and fame. _'Interesting how you throw around the word tradition then march on a dynasty that lasted centuries. I guess you're allowed to pick and choose what traditions and oaths you are to maintain and which ones you should break.'_

All of this passed through Tony's mind in a blink of an eye. He always thought fast, which is why he acted the way he did. Some called him scatterbrained or flighty; Tony was neither. He merely thought things through quicker than others and once he realized that a topic or a person would not be interesting moved on to something else. Everyone ended up agreeing with him in the end; it just took them longer to come to the same conclusions. It was as if he were running through the godwoods while everyone else strolled. That's why it was so difficult to deal with people save those he loved; Rhodey, Pepper, Hogan and Jarvis were the only ones that really understood him. The rest just made life so trying.

And Tony was about to have a very trying time.

"Your Grace," Tony said with a grin, giving King Robert a low, sweeping bow.

"Stark!" Robert bellowed, waving for him to join him at the large table that dominated the Great Hall. It was piled high with breads and meats and ale… and more breads and more meats and more ale. Tony wondered if they even had fruit in Winterfell or if the King simply refused to touch anything that didn't come from grains or beasts. "Come, come, sit your ass down here and join me! I'm breaking my fast and could use the company. The rest of this lot has left me all to my lonesome."

"Maybe that is because it is well past noon, Your Grace," Tony said. "Ser Jamie, always a pleasure."

The Kingslayer looked over and Tony and smirked. "See you're stuck here too, Stark."

"Oh, it's not that bad of a place if you enjoy gloom and darkness and cold." Tony looked over the table's contents and selected a few rolls and some bacon that hadn't been completely turned to coal. "And misery and boredom and cold and wretchedness-"

"You said cold twice," Jamie Lannister pointed out.

"Well, it is cold," Tony said simply.

King Robert snorted. "I have a remedy for that. It involves two great big tits pressed up against your face! I know that always gets me warmed up better than furs and blankets!" He turned to Jamie, his mouth half full of sausage. "That sound good, Kingslayer? A good long fuck warm you up? Or are you afraid that you'll mess up that pretty hair of yours?"

Tony looked off to the side, rubbing his palm along his chin and cheek. Say what you would about King Robert, he had a way of making any conversation utterly awkward.

"I'd ask you, Stark, but everyone knows your balls are firmly in your wife's hands." Robert reached out and Tony watched in mute fascination as Robert snatched more sausages, realizing the king's fingers and his breakfast were the same width. Jamie merely quirked an eyebrow and Tony shrugged, silently asking 'what, you want me to say something?'.

"Yes, but what beautiful hands they are… and at the very least I know where they've been." Robert nearly choked after that retort, coughing and laughing at the same time as he grabbed a large mug of ale and took a look slurp of it. Tony looked towards Jamie, who found it his turn to shrug. "I'll have to be careful, Your Grace. Wouldn't be good for business if people found out that I'd killed our King."

"Especially if it weren't your swords that did it," Robert said with a laugh, grabbing a loaf of bread and tearing it in two. He looked up at Tony, using the loaf to soak up the grease from his sausages before speaking. "Ah, those are some good swords! And hammers too… damn good hammers. Wish you had been around back when your cousin and I were fighting to claim the Iron Throne." Robert leaned back, a pleased smile crossing his face. "Just imagine it, would ya Stark? You could have made me the war hammer to end all war hammers. Black as pitch with gold bolts like those of lightning. Would have called it Thunderstrike and used it to crush that bastard Rhaegar's chest in! 'stead of his rubies flying off he would've had them embedded between his ribs!"

Tony merely nodded, hoping the King wouldn't ask him to make 'Thunderstrike'. War hammers were so simple and boring. A heavy lump of metal on a stick… sometimes the lump had little lumps on it. Pathetic and not worth his time. Now a helm like the one Robert had worn during the war would be an interesting project. He'd seen the stag-horn helmet before in the Red Keep, displayed with honor, and found it sorely lacking. Were he given the chance he could have made one black with white horns sharpened like spears and arrowheads. Something worthy of a king. Of course now he'd have to deal with all that fat that surrounded the king's head and that would mean-

"Kingslayer!" Robert bellowed, wiping his lips with a napkin. "What would you have Lord Stark make ya if you could have anything? Suppose you could… if ya begged your father for money."

Tony could tell Jamie didn't like that. He didn't feel sorry for the knight, however; Jamie Lannister might be an interesting person to talk to but that didn't mean he didn't deserve to have the piss knocked out of him every once and a while. Not like Tony… he never deserved it and never understood why people tried to.

"A sword," Jamie said simply.

"Boring," Robert exclaimed and Tony found himself agreeing. Predictable and boring, much like Jamie Lannister. The man had wits but lacked the interest his brother Tyrion had. He was a soldier and a knight and Tywin Lannister's eldest son and all of those titles meant his entire life Jamie had been taught not to think too deeply. "Boring, just like Renly! He wanted a sword too from Stark here… can you believe that? Every man in the Seven Kingdoms has a sword! Every keep and castle and fort from Dorne to the Wall has a bloody blacksmith that could make a sword! This is Tony fucking Stark! He's a goddamn artist and you ask for a sword? That's like asking my cook to make beef stew! Its like getting the best whore from across the Narrow Sea and asking her to jerk you off! Boring… boring!"

Jamie gave the king a slight smile. "I am the best swordsmen in the Seven Kingdoms, your grace. Why would I want something I am not skilled at using?"

"He has a point," Tony said with a smile. "A boring point but a point."

"I am a boring man," Jamie stated. "Until I have a sword in my hand."

"I'll take your word for it," Tony commented, taking a bite of bacon and wishing there was some fruit. Unlike most men he didn't believe that one could survive on just meat and beer alone. "Never much of a swordsman myself. Can make them just don't like swinging them around." Rhodey had tried to teach him but Tony just didn't have the feel for it. He understood how to make a sword or a spear or a hammer, he just didn't enjoy swinging them around.

Robert, who was clearly growing restless, took a long swing of ale. "Well now Stark, ya came all the way up here to see me so ya might as well get around to telling me what ya want."

"Right, of course. Right to business, love that." And he did. It'd been fun to play around with the King and the Kingslayer but Tony found himself honestly growing tired of the game. It wasn't fun to taunt a target that would kill you if you pushed it too far. Anyone else, even the mighty Tywin Lannister, and Tony would spend honors just ribbing and jabbing. The King though was different and that forced Tony to pull his punches… something he hated to do. It was his damn need to always win that drove him mad.

Tony reached down and grabbed the canvas bag he'd brought with him. He shifted it from hand to hand a few times, wanting to live dangerously, before opening it up and pulling several wads of cotton out.

"Going to knit me a sweater, Stark?" the king asked.

Tony chuckled. "No, no not that. No, this is something rather interesting. We were mining about a six months ago in one of the deeper sections of the mines… the southern one that runs… ok, it really doesn't matter right now, the point is that we found something we've never run into before." Tugging at the cotton, Tony found what he was looking for: a small, glowing white stone.

"By the Seven," King Robert whispered, looking at the stone that Tony held up. It was polished smooth like a gem stone, barely the size of a silver stag. The light that poured out of it though was brilliant, lighting up the king's face like a candle wick would. Jamie Lannister stepped forward, for once unable to hide his surprise. "Never seen a gem like that."

"It's not a gem," Tony stated. "Looks like one, I'll admit, but the density is all wrong and the way that it's shaped-"

"Looks like a gem and gleams like a gem, Stark… that makes it a gem."

"As you say, Your Grace," Tony stated, realizing it was a waste of time to bicker with the king about the little glowing rock. "But you can see that they aren't like anything else we have in Westeros. Maester Jarvis did some research and found that they are Sunstones… I wanted to call them Starkstones but I guess I was overruled. These little buggers never stop glowing, even if you leave them in a dark pit for days on end."

"Interesting little trinkets," Jamie stated, doing his best to act indifferent.

Tony merely smiled. _'If only you knew.'_ He wasn't about to tell the blond that the Sunstones did more than glow. Jarvis had researched them greatly and found all manner of interesting traits the Sunstones were said to have. Mystics claimed they were magic given solid form and used them to amplify their own abilities. Tony didn't believe in magic but had found that the Sunstones were the closest things to making him a believer. Metal was the instrument of their miracles and he'd enjoyed experimenting with them. A helm or gauntlet that had Sunstones embedded in it became light as a feather yet stronger than any steel he'd ever worked with. Once he'd inlaid one stone in a gauntlet he'd been fiddling with it had suddenly felt as if he weren't wearing anything at all upon his hand. Yet, when he struck the metal with his hammer it would not bend or break.

More amazing was their reaction to silver. When a coin was pressed against the stone it would unleash a blast of… well, Jarvis called it magic but Tony wasn't sure exactly what it was. It was powerful though, as a stone the size of a gold dragon had thrown him across the room when he first attempted it. The silver didn't even need to be pressed against it; a light scraping on the back of one stone would cause the beam of light to shoot out the front, destroying much in its path. Tony had always wondered why there was so much gold around Lannisport compared to silver… the Sunstones might be the answer.

He wasn't about to let Robert or the Kingslayer know those facts, however. Tony had learned early on in life that a secret is worthless if everyone knows it. The Sunstone was already an interesting bauble, if the King's refusal to look away from its glow was any indication. Let them know that the Sunstones could revolutionize weapons manufactory and he'd see all his plans ruined as the Crown moved to seize every last one of them. Rulers and lords got easily frightened when lesser men discovered thing that could be used against them.

No, it was better that the King think of it as something of interest but not something of need.

"Trinket, yes," Tony said with a smile, pulling out several Sunstones, including one roughly the size of his palm. If the smaller ones were like candles this one was a bonfire. "But even trinkets are worth something if used right. Lovers love candles but we also need them to light our rooms. Wine is a wonderful drink but boiled it helps mend wounds. Same thing with these little guys here. You put one of them in, I don't know, a lamp or something and suddenly you have no need for oil or wicks or flames. Imagine being able to light your Red Keep without all that smoke?"

"Ye, I see what your getting at," the King said, though Tony could tell he really didn't. "Is there any more to this than that? I can't imagine this was so important that you'd travel up North to the snow and ice when ya could have waited a month and saw me in King's Landing."

"And miss out on all the gloom and despair?" Tony jested, flicking his hand almost dismissively. He leaned back in his chair, slouching a bit as he spoke. "It isn't the stones that brought me here, Your Grace. Rather, it's where they are located."

Robert growled, looking down at his empty mug. "I get enough riddles from Littlefinger and the Imp and the Eunuch! Out with it man, out with it!"

"The Sunstones were found in the southern mine on the farthest end of Iron Pointe. In fact, they were found at the very end of the tunnel." He glanced over at Jamie and knew at once that the Kingslayer had figured out the issue. "I can't dig out another shovel-full of dirt without crossing the border into Lannisport."

"Lord Tywin," Robert grumbled, soundly more like a bear than a stag.

"Not exactly a pleasant man and not one I would want to upset," Tony stated. "He was kind enough to make me the Lord of Iron Pointe and I have no desire to offend him." He looked over at Jamie and smirked. "Personally, I have no desire for them to begin singing 'The Rains of Iron Pointe' anytime soon." The Kingslayer laughed at that, as did Robert. "I was hoping that you could serve as a neutral party, your grace, and help arrange a deal for me to mine the Sunstones. I would be willing to purchase the land or pay a tax upon all I find if Lord Tywin wishes to keep his holdings. I'm not looking to rob Casterly Rock… I'm hoping we can work out an arrangement that will benefit everyone."

"Hmmm… I'll see what I can do, Stark."

"You're welcome to keep those Sunstones, if you wish," Tony stated, noticing how taken the King was with the glowing stones. "A gift. Hopefully I will be able to mine more soon. If not, then I'd rather they go to someone who can enjoy then." Of course, that was a boldface lie. Tony had already managed to find a whole storeroom of the Sunstones and those few he'd passed to the king were actually the worst of the bunch. Robert couldn't see it but Tony had used a special gem-cutter lens to inspect each one and found cracks and flaws in each. The eight stones all together could do something but would not match the strength of the ones he had waiting back in Iron Pointe.

The only reason he wanted to mine further was his hopes that bigger and better stones lay just beyond his border. He had plenty of experiments he wanted to perform on the stones and ideas for new weapons he could create, as well as the need for lesser stones to continue tricking Robert and the Lannisters into believing that the Sunstones were only trinkets good only for lamps and toys.

Tony looked over at Jamie and smiled. _'A raven will be sent to your father, won't it Kingslayer? Good… tattle on. See what I care. I welcome the challenge it might bring.'_

~MC~MC~MC~

Author's Note: So I know that the first chapter's author's note stated that we would have the banquet scene but, as I wrote this chapter it just got so long that I realized that I'd either need to trim things or split it in half. I went the route of splitting.

I hope I was able to capture all the characters' voices properly. Some are based on the show, others the book, to create a nice mix of the best performances.

Next chapter will see the second half of this chapter, with Tyrion and Tony verbally sparring and Benjen discussing with them Jon Snow.

If you have suggestions or ideas that you'd like to see (interactions with characters, who should get POV chapters) let me know.

Thanks for reviewing!


	3. Tyrion I

_**Tyrion**_

The banquet was a dull affair. It was better than any they'd had on their travel to Winterfell, admittedly, but still it lacked the majesty of those held in Casterly Rock and the Red Keep. Tyrion didn't fault the Starks though; it wasn't their fault they were uneducated in entertainment. The North was a sad, dreary place so it took very little to get the mutts excited. A few cases of ale, a bit of music on poorly tuned instruments and a bunch of laughter and they could claim it the best supper Winterfell had ever seen.

'_We really should get old Ned down south, so he can see how these things are suppose to be done,' _Tyrion thought to himself as he left the table. _'Of course, if he enjoyed himself it would be a sign of doom and we'd have dragons and Others and snargles all appearing on our doorstep.' _He could tell his siblings wished they could excuse themselves as well but Cersei was Queen and with power came certain demands, such as smiling even when you were bored to tears. As for Jamie, the northerners were just looking for him to do something dishonorable to prove their half-backed prejudices about him, forcing Tyrion's older brother to remain. Jamie would not give them fodder.

"I'll drink ya under the table, I will!"

'_At least our dear King is enjoying himself,_' Tyrion thought, shaking his head. _'We traded the Mad King for the Drunk King. The gods smile upon us.'_ There were those that claimed the Seven were cruel; Tyrion didn't think so… he thought the gods were pranksters. They looked at people and wondered 'How might we make a jest at their expense?'. With King Aerys and his lot it was to take the most noble and powerful family in all of Westeros and render them so mad that they led to their own extinction. For any that tried to take Harrenhal the gods happily plucked their line like a maiden would flower petals. _'And for my family it made Cersei a woman and me a dwarf. Jamie might be the only one to luck out of all of us… or the gods are just waiting to pull their final joke on him.'_

Tyrion fought the urge to sigh. They'd been on the road for two months and would be stuck in Winterfell for at least another two. It wasn't that he didn't mind traveling, far from it. Tyrion loved to see new places and meet new people and see if a new land's whores could do anything new with their hands and their tongues. The problem was that Winterfell had so little to offer her in ways to entertain himself.

The sound of a sword striking a training dummy fought against the laughter from inside the Great Hall. Tyrion followed the sound and was not surprised to find Ned Stark's bastard once more using his sword instead of his cock to deal with his pent up aggression. The smallest of Lannisters was not a swordsman in any sense of the word but even he could tell that these were not training strikes; no, the boy was angry and he was taking it out on the poor wood and straw-stuffed scarecrow.

"Is it just me or does that boy need to get laid?" Tony asked, walking over and sitting down on a nearby crate, motioning for Tyrion to join him. The dwarf did so, a smile on his lips. Tony was one of the few Starks he could actually have a conversation with. The two of them had been friends ever since they had discovered their mutual love for books, wine and whores. Even after Lady Virgina Potts, now Stark, had managed to win his heart and end his trips to the brothel the two had enjoyed a roaring friendship. "A I'm just saying it seems like he is in need of something to ease his tensions. Maybe a nice plump girl with great big… well…" Tony cupped his hands and rocked them back and forth in front of his chest, "…and he wouldn't be so hot tempered."

"An old favorite remedy of mine, to be sure," Tyrion stated. "I'm surprised to hear you speak of that, though. I had thought your dear wife would have your balls on the chopping block for thinking that."

"That's the problem with you, Tyrion," Tony said with a smirk, "you've never met a woman who can satisfy you. Sometimes I wonder if men's tastes are direction disproportion to their height."

Tyrion snorted at that. Tony Stark was one of the few men that made jests about his height without letting such japes come off as sounding cruel. His was a self-deprecating humor that struck everyone, regardless of status or size. Tyrion knew that everyone was a target of Tony's barbed tongue, not just him. "I doubt that. If that were the case then the Mountain would be the most celebate man in the Seven Kingdoms."

"True. Maybe it's just the extremes. You're so itty bitty and the Mountain is a beast and the King's appetite for whores seems to grow with his waistline-"

"Careful now, friend… that was almost treasonous."

"Doesn't make it any less true," Tony reasoned.

"The truth is the most treasonous thing of all," Tyrion quipped.

"You know, sometimes I wonder if Lord Tywin wouldn't have been better off offering a marriage contract between the two of you," Ser Jamie Rhodes stated as he ambled up to them.

"No offense, but neither of us would look good in a dress," Tony said. "Though I did hear about that one time…"

"A filthy lie, I assure you," Tyrion stated. He looked at the night and nodded in greeting. "Ser Jamie."

"Lord Tyrion," Rhodey said, leaning against a wall and watching Jon Snow continue his practice.

Tony pulled out a wine skin he'd hidden under his jacket and took a long drink. "Can we just put aside the titles for a bit? Makes the conversation go much faster. I mean, I know I get better with age but the two of you are only going to get more wrinkles."

Tyrion waved his hand dismissively. "If you wish."

"Why aren't you enjoying the feast, Tyrion?" Rhodey asked.

The dwarf looked skyward. "There was a storyteller at Casterly Rock. A fine one, very entertaining. My sister cared little for her and some did Jamie but I always enjoyed her stories. Once she told me that every man is born with only so much breath. We are like… like this." Tyrion snatched Tony's wine skin, ignoring the weapon marker's squawk of protest. "We can only have so much wine or air or anything put inside us before we die."

"Good to know that my time is limited and I've wasted some of it listening to you," Rhodey said dryly.

"The point," Tyrion said, acting as if he hadn't been interrupted, "is that no one goes on forever. Every breath is precious. And personally, I don't feel like wasting mine watching our King dance with fat women while my dear sister glares at the world enraged she wasn't born with a cock between her legs."

"Does she wish to be a man or just have a cock?" Tony asked. "Because if it is the latter I hear Myr has shops that can do just that."

"Thank you for the horrifying vision, Tony," Rhodey complained. Tyrion snickered at that; Rhodey's attitude was why the dwarf so enjoyed having the knight around. Tony and him were more like friends than lord and soldier and both had no problem with mocking the other. It was similar to how he was with Jamie… similar, but better. Tony and Rhodey held little back and did not have a blonde bitch constantly hovering around, scoffing and insulting one of them.

"I would offer such a suggestion to her but I fear that she would have my head on a spike… or accept with tears in her eyes." Tyrion took a drink of wine. "My points remines, however. Breathing is precious and if it is a choice between taking my breaths in that Hall or out here under the stars, the stars will always win. At least until your cousins get better wine."

"Good luck with that," Benjen Stark said, stalking towards them. Ned's younger brother, dressed still in the furs and layers of the Night's Watch, joined Rhodey in leaning against the wall. "We northerners don't have the tongues for wine. Until the gods see fit to make grapes that grow in the snow, there is little use in developing one."

"I would prefer a grape that you squeeze and wine dribbles onto your tongue," Tyrion stated. He waved his hands out in bliss. "Then I could die a happy man."

"I'll save my wishes for something else," Tony said.

"And who would you wish to?" Tyrion asked. "You believe in none of the gods, old or new."

"There is only one god," Rhodey said simply, "and he is death."

"I don't think Death gives out wishes or wine," Benjen said.

Rhodey shook his head. "No. The only thing he gives out no man should accept happily."

"If we are going to discuss the great mysterious of life and the gods then I think I'd prefer to return to the banquet," Tyrion groused.

"And what would you prefer to talk about?" Tony asked. "Wine? Women? Gold? Women made of gold and filled with wine?"

"Now you are just cruel, Lord Stark, dangling out my dreams in front of me knowing I can never have them," Tyrion said. He nodded in the direction of Jon Snow. "How about the bastard?" Tony sucked in a breath. "Oh, I'm sorry, does that term offend you?"

"Yeah, just a bit. See, I have a problem with people being judged because of things they can't control."

"And we all know I do not. I enjoy the jests and mockery I get because of my height. It makes me smile so to have people point at me and children run away screaming fearing I am some monster come to gobble them up." Tyrion rolled his eyes. "He is a bastard… that is the term for it. Would you prefer I call him something else? Perhaps I should call him a 'natural born son'. That is what polite people say, isn't it? Well, I am afraid to inform you that I am not polite in the slightest."

"You could call him by his name," Rhodey said.

"Yes, just as I would prefer to be called Lord Tyrion, god of tits and wine. Unfortunately, I am called far worse names."

"Not by us, Tyrion, not by us," Tony said with a smirk. "And when we do, it is only because we know you personally and thus can choose personal insults rather than generic ones."

"Why do you want to talk about Snow?" Benjen asked.

"I hear he wants to take the Black," Tyrion said. "As someone who did just that, I'd like to hear your thoughts on the matter."

"I would too," Tony said.

Benjen considered Tony for a moment. "Why do you care about the boy?"

Rather than deny it, Tony merely leaned back and gestured at Jon, who still hadn't noticed them. "Because someone in this place has to."

"Tell us, Benjen," Tyrion said, taking a sip of wine from the skin he still held, "and be honest with us, for I will know if you are lying… do you think that your nephew should join the Night's Watch?"

The youngest of the Stark brothers was quiet for a long time, letting the sound of Jon's sword cleaving chunks off the training dummy fill the silence. "He is skilled with a blade and has been taught better than most on the wall. He would prosper there and do well. He wants to be like me, I think, but he'd be a better teacher. Thorne is an angry prick and is more concerned with weeding out the weaklings than making our order strong. Jon could improve upon that."

"High and kind words," Tyrion said.

"My brother says that anything said before the word 'but' doesn't matter," Benjen countered.

"…but… that doesn't answer my question. Do you think the boy should join?"

Benjen pushed himself away from the wall and for a moment Tyrion thought, as the grim Stark man marched towards him, that Benjen was going to strike him. Instead the ranger reached down, claimed Tony's wine skin, and after wiping the mouth of it took a long drink. "Seven Hells… no, no I don't."

"Well, that wasn't at all painful to get out of you," Tony quipped.

"Hold your jests, cousin." Benjen returned to leaning next to Rhodey. "I'm not saying he shouldn't someday join, if that is what he truly desires."

"You just think that he shouldn't join now," Rhodey stated.

"He's still a boy. I know he thinks he's a man and able to make his own decisions but he isn't. He's young and he's sheltered and…" Benjen took another long swig of wine. "My niece, Sansa, she has stars in her eyes when it comes to the world. She thinks everyone is brave and just and all knights are daring and bold and that she will marry a nice lord and they will have nice children in a nice little castle."

"From what I hear she is going to marry the future king," Tony said.

"Then she is going to find soon that nice and Joffrey do not coincide," Tyrion muttered.

"Jon is the same way as her," Benjen said. "But his stars are about the Night's Watch."

Tyrion raised an eyebrow about that little comment. _'One would almost think that our dear Benjen doesn't believe all the tales and songs about the noble Night's Watch.' _He toyed with one of the rings on his fingers. _'Of course, that's because he among them. Just as I do not believe the mighty songs sung about my family, save for the 'Rain'.'_ He said none of this, of course, knowing that doing so would only shut Benjen up and the dwarf was interested to hear what Ned Stark's brother had to say.

"He doesn't know about life yet. All he knows is Winterfell. He hasn't explored the world or seen the sights or tasted all that is out there for him. A man needs to understand what he is giving up before he makes this choice!"

"He sees it as a way out," Tony said, rubbing his chin. "I mean, thanks to our ways and traditions he has few options. Ned ruined him by bringing him here."

"It better he didn't?" Rhodey asked in surprise. "That's kind of cold, Tony."

"I don't mean it to be. But it is true. My cousin tortured that poor boy with kindness. He brought him here, forced him to see the family he could never really be a part of… and he has to deal with Ned's charming wife…"

"We all know about your feelings concerning Lady Stark," Benjen grumbled.

"I don't," Tyrion pipped up. "And I would love to hear them."

"We don't get along," Tony said simply. "She has it in her head that I'm an arrogant jackass who cares only about himself and betrayed his family by leaving the North."

"And you aren't?" Rhodey asked.

"Of course I'm all those things that but isn't a reason to hate me!" Tony flashed them a grin. "That's all part of my charm."

"And you're feelings on Lady Stark?" Tyrion pressed. _'Maybe the Starks aren't the perfect little family they wish the rest of the Seven Kingdoms to believe them to be.'_

Tony shrugged. "Oh, I have no problem with her. Great lady." He paused for a few seconds, noticing that none of the other men were buying it. "Ok, so maybe I think that she was a bit too quick to move onto Ned while her 'beloved' Brandon's corpse was still warm… and I think she holds grudges worse than your dear father, Tyrion…"

"Don't tell him that… he'd take it as a challenge."

Rhodey rubbed his arms, trying to chase away a slight chill. Benjen passed him Tony's wine skin and the knight took a drink. "Okay, so Ned bringing Jon to Winterfell to be with his true born children wasn't the greatest thing. But it had to be better than how most lords treat their natural born children."

"I'm not saying that Ned was wrong to help him. I'm just saying… I'm just saying it was wrong for him not to go all the way."

Tyrion was surprised by this. "You'd have Ned Stark claim his bas… claim the boy? What of Robb?"

"He could have always made Robb heir, even if he were younger. The king is Ned's best friend… would have been easy." Tony waved his hand and sighed. "But that's not the point. The point is that Ned wrapped up Jon and now he has few options. He can't stay here, not with Lady Stark breathing down his neck. Your sister would never let him near the Red Keep. Ned won't give him a castle of his own. He hasn't been taught to farm or fish so he can't go and start a normal life."

"He could be a knight," Rhodey said. "Plenty of boys like him become knights." Tony just stared at his friend. "And admittedly those boys would already be squires."

"Exactly," Tony said. "Ned should have left Jon with someone that could show him the world, let him find his talent and a path to take towards having some honor. Instead he let his own honor and his shame mix together and now that boy is going to freeze his balls off on the Wall. No offense, cousin."

"None taken," Benjen grunted. "You are full of comments, Antony, but I don't see you providing an answer."

"Actually, I think I did."

Tyrion glanced at the weapons maker. "Did you? All I heard was some prattling."

"Jon needs to see the world and needs someone to show him it."

"And who would do that?" Benjen asked.

"Me," Tony said with a grin.

Rhodey pushed away from the wall. "Tony, I don't think you have thought this through. You can't just decide spur of the moment-"

"It, uh, isn't spur of the moment."

"-to kidnap a boy and take him home-"

"He's not a boy and it isn't a kidnapping, ok Rhodey? A best this is mannapping."

"-without discussing it with anyone-"

"I have, Rhodey, I have." Tony held up his hand, getting his friend to quiet down. "Pepper and I talked about it when I first decided to come visit. She helped me work out all the little wrinkles."

Rhodey just stared at his friend, shaking his head. "And you didn't think I, as commander of your soldiers and your sworn shield, should know?"

"You do know. Just told you." Tony stood up and began to walk about. "Jon needs to get away from here. Get away from all the people that know him and judge him and look at him with either shame or sadness or judgment. He needs to have a bit of excitement and try his hand at new things. You all know that Ned Stark isn't the one to give him that… but I can."

"You think he'd allow it?" Tyrion asked. "I would think Lord Stark wouldn't trust you with one of his children."

"But Jon really isn't one of his children, is he?" Tony said. He wasn't smiling when he said that, making it clear that the thoughts weren't his own. "And he will if you stand in favor of it, cousin." 

Benjen frowned and Tyrion used the silence to waddle over and steal back Tony's wine skin. He brought it to his mouth, only to grumble when he found it empty. Rhodey shrugged and the dwarf tossed it back to Tony.

"Jon won't be happy," Benjen finally said.

"Not at first," Tony admitted. "But when we explain that he can still join the Night's Watch in a few years, after he's experienced life a bit and decided he'd rather have ice and snow, then he'll come around."

"Or you might rub off on him and he'll become an even bigger shame to his father," Tyrion said. "And speaking as someone who already brings their father shame, I can say such a life is quite enjoyable."

Benjen sighed, rolling his head back and force. "Aye, I'll talk to Ned. Between the two of us we should be able to convince him to go along with this plan."

"Wonderful. Now, I say we return to the banquet, watch our fat king drink himself to an early grave, and then attempt to do the same ourselves." Tony clapped his hands together and began to lead the group back into the Great Hall. Tyrion, however, merely looked back at Jon Snow and smiled.

"Bastard, you have no idea what you're in for," he muttered.

~MC~MC~MC~

Author's Note: I hope you all enjoyed this. It was a blast to have Tony and Tyrion riffing off each other. I hope I managed to not only match the characters' tones but also get the quick, overlapping dialogue feel from the movies correct.

Next chapter we have Jon reacting to the news and Tony and Ned having a chat.


	4. Jon I, Tony II

_**Jon **_

"I want you to not think that this was a rejection," Benjen told his nephew, his strong hand clamped on Jon's shoulder. All around them men and women were hurrying about, getting together the last few things Lord Stark and his daughters would need for their trip to the capital. The King's servants were also rushing about, triple checking rooms to ensure they weren't forgetting anything. None of the royal family would laugh it off if a glove or favorite book were left behind. Depending on whose possessions were lost, it could mean a loss of their job… or their head.

"I know, uncle," Jon said softly.

Benjen sighed, clearly disappointed in the boy's tone. "The Wall isn't going anywhere and your skills won't get any weaker if you give it a year or two. In fact, it might help you out to travel South."

"If you say so, uncle," Jon murmured.

Benjen shut his eyes and released Jon's shoulder. "I know you hate me and I know you think I've betrayed you, but I swear that isn't true. I would be honored to have you standing next to me up on the Wall."

"Just not now," Jon stated.

"Just not now," Benjen admitted. He looked up at the sky and Jon knew that his uncle needed to leave but didn't want to depart with bad blood between them. The problem was that the ranger wasn't known for his conversational aptitude and preferred to let his actions speak for themselves.

'_And his actions have certainly spoken loud and clear,'_ Jon thought to himself. When his father had informed him that he wouldn't be allowed to the Wall the first person Jon had turned to was his uncle. He had thought that Benjen would stand up for him, would tell Lord Stark that Jon should come, tell him it was the only possible solution and convince him to let him go. But instead of an ally he'd found himself facing a cloak-turner who merely shook his head no. Jon had been utterly shocked and his father had needed to tell him the second part of his decision three times before Jon finally comprehended that instead of going to the Wall and becoming a noble member of the Night's Watch he was being shipped off to Lord Antony Stark's keep.

Jon had swallowed his anger and his sorrow and told his father that he understood before hurrying to the godswood, his direwolf pup Ghost his only companion. He was glad of that, for he didn't want to see anyone, to have to look upon their faces, filled with guilt or pleasure at his departure from Winterfell. Word had quickly spread that Lady Stark had told her husband that Jon could not stay in Winterfell after Lord Stark went to King's Landing to serve as the Hand of the King. She had tolerated Jon for Ned's sake but with him gone she would not allow 'the bastard' to remain. Jon knew that his father could not take him to King's Landing; there were enough people whispering about a bastard being allowed to stay in Winterfell … having one in the Red Keep and the Tower of the Hand was simply unheard of. That's why Jon had thought his joining the Night's Watch was assured; it was the only option available to them all.

But it was not to be. He was to be sent off, no different than a young woman freshly bloomed or a rowdy child. It would have been different, had he been younger. There was great honor for a child of a noble house to be taken in and fostered by another family. Lord Stark had himself been fostered in the Vale. But Jon was well past that age and all knew that this was not an honor being given to him. This was him being cast aside. For the next few days every glance and look was either filled with pity for his fate or relief that the symbol for Ned Stark's one and only mistake would be at long last gone.

"It will be fine, Jon," Benjen said, checking over his saddle back. He was doing everything he could to avoid looking his nephew in the eye. He had claimed that he needed to get started early on his ride back to the Wall and had to decline King Robert's offer to ride with them all to the King's Road. Jon knew in his heart that if they were going together, Benjen would have accepted the King's offer. But not now… now he and Lord Tyrion, who had taken it into his head to see the Wall, were riding out now.

'_The imp gets to see the Wall before me,'_ Jon thought to himself.

"It is only for a year and then we'll see about getting you up on the Wall." The ranger's shoulders slumped and he turned back, a smile on his lips that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Jon… I…"

"Have to go," Jon finally said, putting his uncle out of his misery. "I understand, uncle. I do. Be safe. Till we meet again." With that the boy turned and began to march back towards the main castle before Benjen could offer up more hollow words. He did not turn back until he heard the sound of hooves kicking up dirt. He glanced back at his uncle, his lips pursed. _'Goodbye uncle.' _Jon thought, a tremor rolling through his body, making him wonder if he shouldn't have parted with Benjen on better terms.

"Watch it, bastard!"

Jon leapt back, just managing to avoid being struck the scarred swordsman most knew only as The Hound. Robb had told him that the man served as Prince Joffrey's shield but all Jon had seen the man do was get drunk and trail after the royal brat like a belligerent shadow. Jon wasn't sure if the Hound's attitude was a byproduct of the hideous disfiguring scars that marred the right side of his face or if he merely used the injury as an excuse for his horrid personality.

"Sorry ser," Jon said quickly.

"Not a 'ser', bastard," the Hound growled, his heavy dog-headed helm clutched under one arm. "Hurry it up, we're leaving in within the hour and the king and your precious Lord Stark… both of them… won't be made late by the likes of you."

"I'm going to say goodbye to my brother Bran. My horse is already saddled and Lord Antony has collected my belongings."

"I don't give a piss about your belongs, boy. Hurry up and talk to the sleeping corpse and hurry down." Jon opened his mouth, ready to argue that Bran wasn't dead, only to think better of it. 'He just wants to get a rise out of me,' Jon thought. "That's a good bastard!" the Hound bellowed after him.

Never in Jon's life had he wanted to throttle someone more. The Hound's laughter echoed through his head and burned his blood as he walked up the narrow steps and came to Bran's door. His little brother lay asleep in his great bed, his back broken. No one knew what had happened, how the boy who so loved to climb had fallen from the tower, but they had found him there, his direwolf howling for all the world to hear. Bran lay in his bed, fighting for his life, and the Lannisters continued to drink their ale and laugh in their faces and look down upon the Starks as if they were no better than wildings. A fire that was so unlike his Lord father suddenly burned in Jon's chest and it took all his resolve not to draw his sword and march back down the stairs, slit the Hound's throat then find Jaime Lannister and the little shit Joffrey and any other golden-haired man in Winterfell and streak the dirt with their blood.

Jon stopped just outside Bran's door, his fingers curled up in a fist. He forced himself to breathe, to take calming breaths before he continued on. Some many frustrations were now bubbling up inside of him, congealing together to form a great plug of rage in his heart. In that moment Jon hated so much of the world. He hated the King for making Lord Stark his Hand and ripping the family apart. He hated his father for agreeing when Bran was still ill and for refusing to let him go become a man of the Night's Watch. He hated his uncle for betraying him and Lord Antony for stealing him away. He hated that Bran hadn't listened to his mother and he hated that he was forced to leave, unable to be there when his little brother awoke. He hated Robb for not doing more for him and Sansa deciding that now that she was going to be queen that meant she should mimic her mother and treat him like dirt. He hated all of those that looked on him with pity and wanted to kill those that heaped scorn upon him. All at once it felt as if wildfire and ice from beyond the Wall were flowing through his veins.

He leaned forward, taking several deep breaths, swallowing the bile that burned the back of his throat. _'Anger does you no good if left unchecked,'_ Ser Rodrik's voice echoed in his head. The old knight had taught Jon and Robb how to fight with swords and their fists and how to behave like men and in trying times Jon found himself remember the man's lessons. _'Anger is fire. You must set limits for it, keep it contained and an eye forever on it. You must stamp out rogue sparks and never let it grow too big or two bright. Do not bottle it inside or attempt to smother it away though. If tended properly it will aid you and guide you and provide for you. But if you allow it to rule unchecked it will overtake you and burn you and all you love and know will be turned to ash.'_

His thoughts turned to Lord Antony. When he had heard the news that he was to go with him he'd been in disbelief. His father had asked him if Jon found that acceptable and he had quickly said it was fine, understanding that Lord Stark was asking only to be polite and that it didn't matter what he thought about the situation. Truth be told, of all the options that he could have been given, Lord Antony was probably the best. He had always treated Jon fairly and never looked down upon him for his status like some of his father's bannermen would. Jon knew that Lord Antony would be kind to him. But Jon's heart had been set on the Night's Watch and now that dream had been ripped away from him.

He pushed all thoughts aside as he entered Bran's room, knowing they would do him no good. He didn't want his goodbye to his little brother tainted by his own bitterness. Maester Luwin would have shook his head and told Jon he should be thankful for his lot, considering that there were many others that suffered worst blows than his… including Bran.

"What are you doing here?"

Years of such questions had enabled Jon to remain impassive in the face of that demand. Lady Stark was sitting next to Bran's bed, the beginnings of a prayer ring clutched in her fingers. She refused to meet his gaze, choosing to stare off at a spot just above his shoulder. He was use to that too, having grown use to the fact that his father's wife held little regard for him. On good days he was treated with indifference; on bad barely contained contempt. She never struck him or caused him physical suffering but she had made it clear all of Jon's childhood that he was not wanted and done all in her power to take away anything that might make him feel as if he belonged.

"I've come to say goodbye to Bran," Jon stated.

"You have then," Lady Stark snapped.

Jon ignored her. He would be gone within the hour and he did not know when he would next be in Winterfell, if ever. There was little she could do to him now and he did not want her to ruin this final moment between him and his brother.

Jon could remember when Bran was born. He had been fascinated with the squirming, pink little thing that always seemed to cry out and wiggle this way and that. As he had grown that energy had remained and Bran had always been leaping about, trying new things and getting himself into adventures. He wasn't underfoot like Arya; no, Bran's problem was that he liked to explore and would disappear for hours at a time, wandering the woods and climbing the walls of Winterfell.

That's what made his lying there so much worse. Bran was energetic and lively and forever bounding about. To see him lying so still, looking tiny in all the furs and blankets that covered him, without even a twitch to show that he was live… it broke Jon's heart.

"I'll be gone when you wake. I… I am going with father's cousin, Lord Antony, to Iron Pointe," Jon told his sleeping brother. "He says he wishes to teach me about the world. I suppose I will learn the art of weapons making and see how they run their houses in the South. I've never been down there, so… so I imagine I will learn a lot. They say the greatest artisans are making their home in Iron Pointe; not just metalworkers but weavers and potters and the like." Jon took a step forward, his left hand clutching his right. He wondered if he was trying to convince his little brother that this was a good path or trying to convince himself. "After that I… I do not know. I still wish to join the Night's Watch but I fear they won't have me, despite what Uncle Benjen says." He shook his head, forcing such bitter fears from his mind. "When you awake and are strong again perhaps you'll be able to come to Lord Antony's castle. I'll show you the coast and you can play in the sea…" He words failing him so he chose to merely walk to his brother's side and kiss him upon his brow. "I love you, little brother." With that Jon arose and, with a nod of respect to Lady Stark, made his way towards the door.

"Jon."

He stopped. Never had his father's wife called him by his name. Always she spoke directly to him, if forced to, and never did she give a command that saw her needing to use the name his father had given him. He slowly turned, facing her, wondering what final parting words she might have for him.

"It should have been you Jon," Lady Stark said coldly.

He shut his eyes, not wanting to see her face. He didn't want to know if she would smile at his reaction, delighted that she had managed to so gravely wound him, or if she would merely continue glaring at him.

"No, it shouldn't."

Jon whipped around. There, standing in the doorway, was Lord Antony and never had Jon seen the man look so much like his father. In that moment it was easy to believe that Antony and Eddard were kin, for the same fierce, dark gaze that Lord Eddard had was seen on Lord Antony's features. He strolled into the room, his eyes locked onto Lady Stark's. Jon saw that she was surprised as well but there was still a hard edge to her gaze. Lord Antony though met her gaze and would not be cowed by her.

"What happened to your son is a tragedy," Antony stated, his voice holding none of his usual mirth. "But you do him no respect wishing his fate on those he loves. If you truly care for him you would understand that he loves his brother and would not want to see him hurt." Lady Stark looked ready to say something but Antony cut her off, a fake smile plastered on his face. "But don't listen to me. Wallow in your hatred. Let it warm you at night. Tell yourself that you are the victim and wrap yourself in that indignation like a shroud. But don't make Jon your target ever again. Don't blame him for something that is not his fault. He will be my ward the next time you lay eyes on him and I do not take kindly to people insulting those I have pledged to protect. Speak that way to him again…"

Lady Stark stood up, her fingers gripping the godwheel so hard Jon thought it might shatter. She glared at Lord Antony, trembling like a leaf caught in a great breeze. "You have no right to speak to me like this. You enter my home-"

"Which is only your home because you were willing to trade a dead Stark brother for a living one," Tony countered.

Catelyn's eyes widened for a moment before she snarled, "I am the Lady of Winterfell and my son… my precious son… is lying there and you DARE question how I treat that bastard? My son… my Bran-"

"Loves his brother," Antony repeated, cutting her off. "And he would be ashamed to see you like this. Of course, what he considers love and what you consider it might be two different things." Lord Antony laid his hand on Jon's shoulder and began to turn him away. "Farewell, Lady Stark… I don't think we will see each other again for a long time."

"Good," she snapped.

Antony pushed Jon towards the door, only to pause. "Oh, and just something to keep in mind: life has a way of sending back to you all that you put out into the world. So remember your actions here the next time tragedy falls upon you and your family… and know it is all your fault." With that Antony shut the door, a smaller, truer smile on his lips. "I'm sorry, Jon."

"You should not have gotten involved."

"I wasn't apologizing for that," Antony said. "I was apologizing… for things the people of Winterfell should ask forgiveness for."

Jon didn't know what to think of that and chose instead to ignore the comment. "You should not have spoken to her like that."

Lord Stark nodded, rubbing the back of his head. "Yeah, probably not… and I probably shouldn't call her a bitch but I will."

Jon's eyes widened in shock.

"Oh, come on… you've wanted to call her that for years."

"No… never," Jon said, looking about in fear someone had heard Antony slandering Lady Stark.

Antony threw his arm around the boy's shoulder. "Jon, Jon, Jon… we have so much work to do with you."

~MC~MC~MC~

_**Tony**_

Their ride out of Winterfell had been a boring one. There had been many goodbyes and well wishes and honors to be paid. Tony had begun to wonder if they would ever leave as it seemed that as soon as they had taken care of every last possible farewell the King or Ned would remember something and it would begin the process anew. Every parting was filled with tradition and ritual and turned the act of returning home into a mummer's stage play.

Tony was not a patient man when it came to anything other than his metallic creations. Pepper had laughed at him often, wondering how he could fidget and shift like a child told to stand in the corner at the slightest delay but spend hours staring at a piece of iron, working out how best to use it. Conversations that did not interest him were like the worst torture but he would run a whetstone along a knife's edge for days if needed, until he was satisfied. Rhodey worried that one day Tony would make a metal man and declare it to be his newest bannerman.

After many tears and well wishes and promises Ned had relented and let King Robert give the command for them to go. It had taken all of Tony's power not to spur his horse and race out of Winterfell's gate. Instead, to alleviate his frustrations, Tony had ridden up and down the caravan line, checking to make sure his servants and swordsmen were settled and understood their plans. He'd ridden with Jon for several minutes, making awkward conversation, before galloping over to Rhodey and requesting the knight keep an eye on the boy. He'd attempted to talk with Pepper but she had waved him away, refusing to shout from within her wagon just to release him of his boredom.

They'd ridden for eight days though the trip would have been half that if not for the constant stops. Every time it was a new excuse: the queen needed to rest, the princess wanted to see something, the king had to take a piss. It seemed as if every hour they had to stop and wait for some member of the royal family to go about their business. A knight or a servant could wander off and the ride continued but all stopped when Prince Joffrey needed to take a squat in the forest. The worst were the meals; breakfast, lunch and supper became a complete affair with tables brought out, minstrels pulled out their instruments and knights took bets if the king would be able to get back onto his horse without toppling onto his royal ass. Tony had managed to win some coppers the last time but that did not make up for the fact that they had moved far too slowly for his tastes.

That was about to change, however. They had come to their point of parting and Tony and his household would be leaving the King and his grand parade to head West. They'd asked him to continue with them, claiming that he could stay in the capital and enjoy the wonders of King's Landing. Tony had waved that offer off, claiming he had pressing matters he needed to attend to in Iron Pointe.

'_Pressing matters like not being in a city that stinks of urine and body odor,'_ Tony had thought to himself.

They had halted on a small hill, looking about the grass that lay spread out in all directions. Luck had been on their side and the summer snows had melted, giving all of them a rare glimpse at a non-frost covered North. Tony had sent Rhodey, Pepper and the rest of the household ahead and now he sat astride his horse with Ned and Jon on either side of him.

"Be well, my lad," Ned said with a slight smile. "Look for opportunities to learn. This is a rare chance for you and you'll regret it if you don't take a hold of it with both hands."

"I will, father." Jon gripped the reins, his jaw working before he looked back at Ned. Tony could tell he wanted to ask Ned something but was debating whether it would be proper. He would start only to suddenly stop, then start again. Finally, just when Tony was sure Jon would never work up the nerve, the boy spoke. "My Lord… I've never asked about my mother. I've respected your wishes on that matter. But as we are here and I do not know when we might see each other again… does she know about me? Does she know what I am doing? That I am well?"

Tony watched Ned carefully. He too wanted to hear the answer to Jon's question. Another man would have politely excused themselves but Tony wasn't most men. "She knows enough, lad, she knows enough." Ned moved his horse so he was next to the boy. He reached over and gripped Jon's shoulder. "When we see each other next you will be a man… and then I will tell you everything."

Jon gave a slight smile at that and spurred his horse forward.

"Well… that was a lie," Tony said once Jon was out of earshot. Ned looked at him and the weapons maker smirked. "I'm not saying everything was a lie but at least one of those statements was. Not… not really for sure which one was but I know you lied about something. As a man that tells many, many lies, I can tell when someone is lying." Ned merely stared at him and Tony rolled his hands about. "I'm not quite sure why you are lying to him or what big dangerous secret your hiding. Must be something rather big for you to do it. Not my place to judge… except I'm going to. You owe him the truth."

"It is a matter between me and him," Ned said sternly. "You would be wise to remember that, cousin."

"Touched a sensitive spot I see. I get that, won't do it again, a thousand pardons." Tony rubbed his chin.

Ned remained quiet for a few moments, watching as Jon rode down to join Rhodey and Jarvis. "You believe you know what is best for everyone, don't you?"

"Part of my charm," Tony said.

"You question things you don't understand and involve yourself with issues that are none of your concern." Ned turned so that he was looking Tony in the eye, his dark, deep eyes never wavering as he looked upon his cousin. "You have no right to come into my home and talk as you do."

"Someone heard about my little chat with Catelyn."

"Aye," Ned said gruffly. "She informed me. It is only because you are family and the King was there that you aren't in a cell right now." Tony smirked at that; both of them knew that while Ned was the King's friend, Tony was too wealthy and powerful to be treated like most. Just when Tony thought that might be the end of it Ned reached over and grabbed him by the lapels of his coat, pulling him close. "What gives you the right to talk to her like that?"

Tony reached down and slowly pried Ned's fingers open. He looked upon his cousin as if he were a clod of dirt. "Nothing. I had no right to speak to her that way. I should never have said those words." If Ned thought he was going to get an apology he was wrong. "You should have said them." It was Tony's turn to stare defiantly at Ned. "You… you think you are so noble, taking him in and caring for him but you're not. You made a mistake and let your lust get the best of you and took responsibility for that and I get it… I get it! That's all well and good! But, and this is the key here, it is not noble in the slightest to stand back and let others like your wife blame that boy for your sins. And just to be clear, they are _your _sins. Not Jon's. He didn't choose to be born. He didn't choose to come to Winterfell. He didn't choose to have your brother's almost-wife be made yours, leaving you trapped with a woman you hardly knew before riding off to face the greatest dynasty the Seven Kingdoms ever knew. He didn't choose to be a reminder to Cat of you breaking your vows. You chose all that and you chose to wipe your hands of him while that woman went on her petty campaign to make him miserable to the point that he thought the only way he could find peace was to become a celibate soldier freezing his balls off on an ice wall keeping watch for non-existent boogeymen! So don't stand there and act like you are better than me, cousin." Tony nudged his horse, the stallion trotting forward.

"I … have made mistakes," Ned said slowly, his tones measured. "I have not been able to give all that Jon deserved. I did the best that I could though and it was better than most." He held up his hand. "That is not an excuse though. To do some but not all is does not absolve me of my failings. I understand that, better than you can imagine." If his previous words were soft his next were as hard as steel. "But you of all people can't act self-righteous. You are an arrogant, petty, narcissistic man that cares nothing for honor or valor. You are a merchant of death who makes his coin on the suffering of others. How many lives were ended by your swords? How many innocents were killed by your arrows? You hide in your castle and build gaudy swords and look down upon the rest of us for believing in something while ignoring your own faults and using jests to hide your blood-soaked hands. You hold nothing sacred and believe in nothing great than yourself. Well, I'd rather believe in something than be you."

"Oh Ned… you could never be me." Tony gave him a mocking smile as he began to ride away. He knew Ned had nailed him completely and thus couldn't resist a final jab. "Oh, and while I'm offering unwanted advice… marrying Sansa to that brat Joffrey… you're going to live to regret that!" With that parting shot Tony spurred his horse into a gallop, the clatter of hooves blocking any retort his cousin might have made.

~MC~MC~MC~

Author's Notes: So, I want to cover two things here: POV and how it affects the tone of chapters, and how I go about writing these stories.

First, POV. One of the fun aspects of this story is being able to jump around from character to character and see how they view the world and other characters. I totally get why Martin does it, as it really stretches your mind when you are forced to leap from one character to another. This story is going to offer me a chance to examine characters that haven't gotten POVs and let me, and the you the readers, see the world through their eyes. Don't get me wrong, we will still get Jon POVs, as well as Tyrion and Ned. Other characters will lose their POVs since they won't be affected by Tony… Dany won't be appearing for quite some time and Sansa won't be a POV character anymore, same with Bran. But other characters who weren't POV characters will get chapters. For example, the next chapter is a Tywin chapter and I had a lot of fun putting myself in his boots. I also want to do a Gregor POV and I am thinking about giving Samwell Tarly one (and yes, I've come up with an interesting way to involve Sam in this story).

Now, some of you have mentioned that I am writing Ned a bit… stiff. Some of you might also think I am bashing Catelyn and need. Here is the thing though… reread Catelyn's section in Chapter 1. Ned is a bit softer there, a bit less like a board. His portrayal here is on purpose because of who our POV is: Tony Stark. Of course Tony is going to see Ned without any humor and as a big gruff northern man. When Ned gets his POVs later on in Kings Landing, he will be more 3-dimensional while Tony, in those POVs, will become more 2-dimensional… because Ned wouldn't see Tony's depth and would see him as the sarcastic clown.

You might have noticed that I even change characters names depending on the POV character. For example, right now Jon calls Tony 'Lord Stark' or Antony. But when Pepper or Rhodey is the POV, he will always be 'Tony'. Because they know him as such.

The second item I wanted to discuss is how I write these chapters. Right up front I will admit I've only read parts of the first book in the Ice and Fire. I got into this via the show. But, just like with my Harry potter crossover world, that doesn't mean I won't do research. I have been reading character bios, doing research, and have a wonderful full timeline to ensure that I have events happen in the correct order. I can't have Tyrion in the Vale before Ned is in Kings Landing, for example. That said, some events will occur sooner or later because of the ripple effect Tony has on being in this world.

If you have any questions, comments, or concerns, remember to review and I will try and answer. I love discussing my stories with people. Just be friendly about it… insulting messages or whining will not earn you brownie points.


	5. Tywin I

_**Tywin**_

The Master of Castlery Rock awoke as he always did: flat on his back, on the right side of his great bed, his sheets smooth with hardly a wrinkle. Years of practice and discipline saw him not roll about or toss and turn as he freed himself from sleep; Tywin Lannister merely opened his eyes like a corpse suddenly reanimated. Some might have thought it had something to do with his stern personality but it was more practical than that: when one slept on a battlefield the quieter he was meant he was the last to be stabbed in their sleep. Tywin could feel the sun on his face and his next action would have startled even those that claimed to be close to him, for it was so unlike the powerful and stern man they knew.

Tywin smiled.

Then, as he always did ever morning, he turned his head to the left, gazed upon the spot long left empty, and let the smile fade away, to be banished away until the next morning. For it was only in that moment, just after waking, that he would indulge in hope that it was not so and she was still with him. After that there was no reason to smile again. It was painful… more painful than any wound he could ever receive, but necessary. He wanted to remind himself that hope was a lie.

He arose from his bed and sat, savoring the silence of his bedroom. Too many people, he had found, abhorred silence, thinking it an emptiness that signaled the lack of something. Tywin agreed but did not see this lack as a negative thing. Silence meant there was a lack of turmoil. Silence could only be found in a world where everything was as it should have been and all ran exactly as it should. Noise meant that something had gone wrong or that there were issues that needed to be dealt with. Noise was the hallmark of the Starks and the Martells and the Tullys and the all the other lesser houses that barely managed to function. Casterly Rock moved with precision. It moved with silence.

Tywin rose to his feet just as the door to his bedchamber opened and his squire, Gerold Lannister, made his way over to the small bowl that on the table and poured cool water into it from the pitcher he was holding. As his master began to wash his face Gerold grabbed a towel and held it out for Tywin to grab.

'_A good one at long last,' _Tywin thought to himself as he washed his face and neck. It had taken him five years and twelve squires before he finally found one that met his needs. Some had been scared of him, which did not do; fear made them nervous and jumpy and prone to mistakes. Tywin took great pleasure in frightening people but such emotions were not useful in one that would be waiting on him day and night. A few had seen the position as a chance to suck up to him and try and gain favor. Those had learned quickly that it was folly to try and manipulate the old lion. One had admitted the first day to Tywin that he had only taken the job because his cruel father demanded he get in Tywin's good graces or, if that weren't possible, find something to blackmail him with. The boy's honestly had tickled him and Tywin saw him rewarded: the young man's father was murdered and the boy made lord of the family castle. That had served towards removing a threat, gaining loyalty of a bannerman and sending a message to those that sought to trick him.

Gerold had been with Tywin for nearly two years and proven himself quite capable. The boy understood that his was a job of aid, doing as Tywin commanded. He spoke when he needed to, was silent when not, and did not tarry when he was not needed. Tywin knew that if this continued he would see to having the boy mentored by the steward of Casterly Rock, so that he might continue to serve House Lannister.

In Tywin's mind the ability to lead was a very important trait… and the ability to follow just as meaningful. Just as it wouldn't do for the Lord of Casterly Rock to be timid, something his father had proven, to have too many leaders constantly butting heads like mountain rams would only lead to disorder. Tywin appreciated those that were able to put their pride aside in the name of bettering their house; he himself had done it many times, ignoring the urge to tell their drunken buffoon of a king just how much he loathed him. His brother Kevan was a perfect example of this ability and how much it was needed. Kevan Lannister was smart and had a great mind for military tactics. When leading a vanguard or a cavalry he was lord and commander and all men bowed to him. But when Tywin was around he easily slipped into the role of second-in-command. Kevan understood that this was something that was needed and was willing to do so in the name of House Lannister. He did this without any sense of anger or demand of reward. If more people within Tywin's family thought like Kevan they truly would be a house that could never be broken. Gerold showed many of the same traits as Kevan and Tywin planned to foster these and see that the boy developed them.

Not that he would ever tell his squire this. He found it disgusting how so many people in the world demanded a pat on the head and happy little words whenever they managed to do what was expected of them. Tywin was not a cruel man that would deny someone their do, far from it. 'A Lannister Always Paid Their Debts'. But there was a difference between a man doing their job and going beyond what was expected of them. Gerold had, so far, done well in his position and should he continue to do so Tywin would put his talents to good use. Should that avenue lead the boy to rendering House Lannister in his debt he would be rewarded; should he fail… well… not all debts were for the good of the collector.

"Is there anything you wished for in particular, my lord?" Gerold asked as he helped him put on his crimson coat. Summer may still have been in Westeros but Casterly Rock always saw milder temperatures thanks to their position on the coast. The jacket was fitting without being snug, the right side overlapping the left and snapped into place with gold clasps, and the tails of the garment, trimmed with gold, came down to his ankles.

"My usual." He paused. "And two wheat muffins and a bit of jam," Tywin said.

"Yes, my lord," Gerold said. "Maester Rowan is ready to see you when you are available."

"Send him in now. Bring the wine with you when you return."

"Yes, my lord," Gerold said firmly.

Maester Rowan was young for a 'knight of the mind' though a common man would not think so. Just barely in his 60s, he was a rather tall figure with hair that, despite his years, remained black as pitch. His frame was lean and his face long, with dark eyes that looked upon the world and cataloged everything he saw for future reference. He'd once told Tywin that his memory was so sharp that he could recall every word in a book after reading it once; Tywin had been pleased when this proved true and the master proved to be valuable. His great chain hung about his neck, the many different rings standing out against the blackness of his robes.

"My lord," Rowan said, waiting until Tywin sat at his dining table before taking the chair opposite of his. Tywin often broke his fast in his large bedroom, using that time to gather his thoughts and go over the many messages he received before heading out to confront any tasks waiting for him. Breaking fast in the main hall meant he had to deal with those that wanted his attention. "Your messages."

Tywin looked them over as Gerold returned, a crystal bottle of arbor gold in his hands. The squire poured each man a glass before retreating to the corner, awaiting for his next command. The raven messages were rather dull, which Tywin would take over talk of death and doom any day. One of his bannermen's wife had given birth to a son. Tywin would send no reply, knowing that the message was merely one of respect to him. A rapist had been found and it was asked that they might forgo the usual offer to send him to the Wall and just kill him. Tywin considered this before deciding that the man's death would serve well as a message to others. Some minor lord from the far end of the Westerlands had invited him to sup with his family in a fortnight. Tywin declined; the man's wife had a voice that could shatter glass and his daughters were homely beasts.

One of the cook's assistants arrives with Tywin's breakfast: two pieces of lightly browned toast, 3 boiled eggs, two bright red apples and the muffins he had requested. Holding out his glass for a refill of wine he bid Gerold to go get his own breakfast. There was no need to tell the boy when to return; his squire knew well how long it would take his master to eat and would be back in plenty of time.

"Tell me, Maester Rowan, what brings you to me at this hour?"

"The matter of the King's message concerning Lord Stark, my lord."

Tywin nodded. More than a few people had thought him mad to allow Antony Stark to take residence in Highwatch, now known as Iron Pointe. Ned Stark's cousin had come to the Tywin after spending several years across the Narrow Sea, touring the Free Cities. He had been sun baked and dressed in wild garments and acted much too casually for many of Tywin's advisors. Those he surrounded himself with didn't help matters; a dark-skinned swordsman from Braavos, a disgraced maester who had barely avoided having his chain taken from him due to his fascination with magic, a rather dour man called 'Happy' whose sole job seemed to entail seeking out imagined threats, and his wife Virgina from the disgraced Potts line who'd never set foot in Westeros before. Worst of all was Antony Stark's love of _laughing_. Never to Tywin and never about him, if the whispers were true, but still, laughter was not something Tywin ever enjoyed hearing in the Rock.

Antony had at the very least approached him through the right channels. He had requested a meeting, paid his respects, and then laid out not only what he wanted but how it would benefit both himself and Tywin. That had been his first mark towards gaining approval; too many people thought that all they had to do was ask him for something and appeal to his vanity and they would get it. Those fools were quickly shown the door… or a cell. Antony Stark however had been different. He didn't grovel like a lowborn or demand things like some foolish highborn who thought himself better than the Lord of Casterly Rock. No, the young Stark had held himself as just below Tywin, deferring to him but refusing to beg. He explained why he wanted the castle, why he was the only one that could do what he was proposing, and, most importantly, what benefits would come to Casterly Rock and the Lannisters from such a deal. That had been the part Tywin cared about the most, though not for the reasons most assumed. Many who asked for alliances spoke of soldiers or gold and daughters. Lord Stark had discussed history and new avenues; of securing the future while also fortifying the past. Tywin knew some of the pitch was a mummer's act but he would have turned the Stark boy away if he hadn't tried to play the game.

He still remembered well his daughter's reaction to the news. She had come for a visit with the children and asked him with a teasing smile that held no joy or pleasure if he were suffering from the affects of old age. When he'd refused to play her games like Tyrion would she'd snidely reminded him, as if he had forgotten, that the Starks already had a link to her husband and were Wardens of more land than any lord in Westeros. Allowing them inroads in the Westerlands was foolish as, in Cersei's opinion, they should have been working to minimize the influence Ned Stark wielded. She'd gone on and on, detailing how she would have handled the entire negotiation, less for his benefit and more because she simply enjoyed the sound of her own voice.

He'd allowed her to tire herself out before coldly asking her who she thought she was talking to. She'd visibly started at that and Tywin had proceeded to tear her down, pointing out all her faults and failings. He reminded her of all his accomplishments and how she had only received all she had because of him and his actions. Her wealth and power had not been won by her beauty or intellect, both of which she sadly thought she had more of than she did, but by his cunning and skill. He needled her on mistakes she had made and failures of plans until she was shifting in her seat like a child. Once he had verbally flayed her in a matter that would have made the Boltons proud he had sent her off on her way, warning her of the dangers of questioning him.

He hadn't bothered to explain why he had agreed to let Antony Stark take control of Iron Pointe; that little display of hers had lost her the right. It wasn't just the money that Stark had given him as payment, nor the agreement that saw Lord Stark paying a yearly tithing. Highwatch had been a blemish on the Westerlands and needed to be dealt with, rebuilt and brought back to its former glory. It also served as a matter of protection for Casterly Rock. The burning of the fleet in Lannisport by the Ironborn would never have happened had someone occupied Highwatch at the time.

Cersei had been right about the Starks having influence on the king but as always she had lacked the imagination to see how to deal with it. She saw them as enemies that needed to be dealt with; Tywin saw them as a mere obstacle that could either be bypassed or made into a strength. Antony Stark was far down the line but could inherit Winterfell if something were to happen to Ned Stark's brood. Better for Tywin to control a Stark than to allow one more to run wild and free.

The only negative of the entire deal was that Tywin's fool of a son had become friends with Lord Stark. Still, it was a small price; at the very least it got the youngest of his children away from Casterly Rock so Tywin didn't have to look at his hideous squashed in face.

Tywin began to cut up one of the apples he had been given, his lips pursed in thought. He remembered well the two messages he'd received concerning Antony Stark and his desire to mine into Tywin's lands. The first had been from King Robert and stated that Stark had come to the king and asked him to act as a neutral third party to help establish an agreement that would allow Stark to mine for 'Sunstones'. Tywin could easily tell that it had been another's hand that wrote the message and chose the correct words. Robert was a forceful, powerful man but he was not one to communicate well. He was more liable to just shout at people and snarl and demand they do what he wanted. It was a trait Tywin's children had, much to his disgust; Jamie and Tyrion held it in small amount but Cersei held it in great quanities and it always led her into trouble. She, much like King Robert, was a young cub, snarling and leaping about, thinking that she merely needed to roar to get her way. Tywin was the old lion, who knew how to slink and slide and prowl, finding what he wanted and snatching it away before any knew what had happened.

'_Stark may have the blood of the wolf in him but he understands better the old lion's ways then my offspring,' _Tywin thought to himself. Starks strategy was quite ingenious and Tywin would have expected no less of the man. By appealing to King Robert rather than himself, Stark had eliminated any possibly Tywin had of simply saying no and then mining the Sunstones himself. More than that, Stark had been able to demonstrate his new find to the King, ensuring that the drunken oaf would already know of them when Stark began to produce new items incorporating the stones and would be the first one sending silver stags towards Iron Pointe. By leaving it to Tywin to set up any fees or costs, Stark forced him into a corner, preventing him from overcharging him, lest the King see it as an insult.

Tywin could respect Stark's cunning. He would still find a way to ensure that the Lannisters got the better deal, but it would not be personal at all, purely business.

Jamie's note had been hidden with the king's note. He'd described the Sunstone and informed his father that they were silly little things that appeared quite worthless to him. Jamie had then went on to tell his father that it would not be worth the effort to fight Stark on this and that he should just throw out a high number and get Stark to fill their coffers on his fool's errand.

Tywin made a mental note to give his eldest son the same talk he'd given Cersei.

"What have you found?" Tywin asked Rowan, popping a slice of apple into his mouth.

The Maester reached for the canvas bag he'd brought with him. "I visited the Stark mines and reminded the foreman that his lord only has claim on them because of your kindness. I was taken into the southern shaft and found that King Robert's message was mostly true. Stark has reached the end of his holdings and has not dug an inch further. They have carved out side tunnels that run along the boundary and exposed more of these stones, but it is clear that they would need to go forward, not sideways, if they wished to truly obtain greater quantities."

"And what of these Sunstones?" Tywin asked, wiping his blade with a napkin. "What have you discovered about Antony Stark's newest oddity?"

Rowan reached into his bag and pulled out a stone that was just a touch bigger than a gold dragon. Tywin had thought that the king was making too much out of the rock, that it could not glow as brightly as was claimed. It seemed that Robert hadn't been in his cups as heavily as Tywin had assumed. Even with the morning rays illuminating his chambers he could see that the Sunstone let off a healthy glow. He cupped it in his hand and it looked as if he were holding a white flame in his palm. Tywin then ran his thumb along its smooth, flat surface before tapping it against his table several times, seeing that the glow never wavered or diminished.

"The Sunstones can be difficult to mine, though it depends on the stone they are in. Once freed they are easy enough to clean and shine, as they do not require the aid that diamonds need to be prepared for buyers." Rowan pulled out two more stones and Tywin saw quickly that these two were halves of the same whole. "I took the liberty of experimenting on several, to see their reactions to normal gem polishing and cutting. Bluffing and polishing does little to improve the glow and almost nothing to diminish it. They are rather strong and it took several strong strikes of a steel mallet and a chisel to break this one here in half. Shaping them is the problem though." Rowan lifted up one of the halves, running his finger along the raw, rough surface of the stone where the break had occurred. "Though they do not lose their illumination if shattered there is simply no way to smooth these rough sides. All attempts cause them to further shard off and shatter until all one is left with is dust."

"That will cut into Stark's ability to use them," Tywin stated. "He will have difficulties making use of many pieces and will need a large supply if he is to use them for armor or jewelry. Are there any other properties to them?"

"None that I can find, my lord. The glow is quite fascinating but other than that they are rather useless. They cannot be melted down like metal or cut like a gem. They are as you see them."

"Perhaps my son was right when he claimed they were nothing more than a bauble." Tywin set the Sunstone on the table, considering it. "What uses do you see for them, Maester Rowan?"

"They would have few uses, my lord," Rowan said, idly rubbing one of Sunstone halves. Tywin looked down and saw that he too had picked back up the one he had been given. He set it aside and focused on the maester's words. "If I may speak freely?" Tywin waved at him to do so. "It might not please you to hear this, my lord, but in reality there is little use for the metals and gems that men most covet. Gold is too soft to make armor or weapons, while silver tarnishes easily. Rubies and diamonds and emeralds will never win the day on a battlefield… Rhagaer Targaryen's rubies did not protect him from King Robert's warhammer."

"It is the great foolishness of men," Tywin stated. "That which we have placed the most value upon is almost worthless. Lords will die of thirst and hunger before they give up their gems for a loaf of bread." The Lannisters may have power because of their gold but Tywin had never allowed himself to become feverish in desire for it like so many others had. Going through the great Book of Lords, which detailed all the Lords of the Rock, confirmed that more than one Lannister had allowed 'gold fever' to drive them mad. Tywin respected his wealth and took pride in it but he never forgot that it was only the demands of others that placed a value upon it. "You see these Sunstones the same way?"

"Indeed, my lord. Oh, one of the Dornish Princes might want some in his armor so he can claim that he is 'the Sun Prince' or something like that and a few highborn ladies will beg their husbands for necklaces that glow, but quite honestly I do not see what other value these trinkets might have."

"King Robert made mention that Stark thought they might serve as a replacement for candles." Tywin took pleasure in seeing the maester give a start at that. He had always sought out the best when it came to council and was quick to find replacements if one faltered too greatly. But that didn't mean that he was a dullard who needed to be told how to run things. He wasn't Robert, who could barely figure out how to put his cock in the right hole, let alone run a kingdom. Tywin had advisors but he always prided himself on being able to be, at most times, already a step ahead of him. In his view, maesters and generals and the like were kept purely to reinforce his ideas. They weren't yes men and would challenge him if needed, but for the most part their duty was to confirm what he believed.

"I… I suppose they could do that," Rowan said, trying to get back on stable footing. "It would be difficult, what with them resisting cutting. It would mean one must always make a new fitting for them-"

Tywin stood up, wine glass in hand. He strolled onto his terrace balcony and, after taking a final sip, poured the wine down to the ground below. Silently he strolled back to the table and snatched the Sunstones, dropping them into the now empty cup with a 'tink tink tink'. Covering the top with his hand, he merely raised an eyebrow as he looked at the maester.

"I give you a wickless lamp," he said dryly. "No need for fittings, no need for metalwork. One can select the number of stones they want inside and control to amount of light. Bright and crisp for writing letters, dull and muted for reading in bed. It doesn't matter what size the stones are, only their number and the size of the container. The stones don't even have to look interesting. All one needs is a bit of glass." Tywin set the cup down, looking Rowan in the eye. "I came up with that in less than a minute. Stark has had months to examine them and plot. He could sell them by themselves or get a glassblower to create the globes for him. With this find Stark might have just put all sellers of oil and candles out of business. All with something that has been under my lands for years now."

Rowan licked his lips nervously. "Y-yes, my lord."

Tywin sat down and returned to his breakfast, allowing the maester to consider his words. The man did not say anything, allowing the quiet scraping of Tywin's knife upon his toast to fill the air. "Stark's greatest trait is his creativity. It is something that is sorely lacking in the Seven Kingdoms. People go about their lives, holding true to the things that their forefathers did, never attempting to improve their lot. That should mean men like Stark would fail due to indifference but we come to another bit of irony about lesser men: they hate change but will embrace it if others do. The people of Westeros are sheep, forever looking for a shepherd to guide them. And who do the people turn to now?" Tywin jabbed his finger against the table. "The same man that made all aspiring knights request warhammers. Stark has the king interested in these stones and soon others will follow Robert. If I don't adapt I might very well see Antony Stark surpass me in wealth and power… how long then before my bannermen wonder if it might not be wiser to follow him?"

"It would be unwise to deny him use of the mines, my lord," Rowan said weakly. "The King would see it as you being petty."

"Indeed," Tywin said. "What would you suggest then, Maester?"

The black-robed man considered his words carefully, understanding just how unstable the ground he stood on was. "The lands that border Lord Stark's have no villages or castles. Very few live there and it would not be of great loss. Sell to Lord Stark three square miles but request that he pay back any gold or silver found while mining. He wishes just the Sunstones and that is all me may have. Everything else should belong to House Lannister."

Tywin nodded. "We not only make a profit on unused land but we also stand to gain more. Stark won't be able to refuse because he'll be desperate to get to the Sunstones." The Lord of Casterly Rock nodded to himself. "What is the nearest mine to Stark's?"

"Uh… let me think… the Northern Paw Mine, I do believe."

"Send word to the foreman that I want them to turn towards Stark's land. Create an open-pit if need be." Tywin took a bit of his muffin, savoring the taste before continuing. "Stark is welcome to his Sunstones but that does not mean we won't attempt to find our own. He will not have exclusive rights. If his mine runs dry then he can buy from us."

"Of course, my lord. I will inform your steward at once." Tywin said not a word as the maester left, Gerold returning just as the black robed advisor left. Lord Lannister stood up once more and moved to the terrace looking upon his domain. _'You are clever, Lord Stark, more clever than most in your family… but you are merely a wolf playing a lion's game.'_

~MC~MC~MC~

Author's Note: Can I just state how much of a pain in the ass it is coming up with Westeros names? Seriously, it would be easy if Martin had just gone nuts and created totally new names like JRR Tolkien did… Aragorn and Legolas and such. But no, he has to take regular names and alter then slightly… Edward becomes Eddard, Richard becomes Rickard and Rickon, so on and so forth. Ugh.

Ok, so this chapter was a fun one to write. I originally wrote 2 more chapters before this one: Pepper I and Tony III, but realized that I wanted to get Tywin in here before Tony's… well, the incident that convinces him to become Iron man. Tywin has never been a POV character and I loved putting myself in his head and trying to guess how he would act. On one hand, Tywin is just a horrible man that abuses people and uses his wealth to do what he wants... but on the other hand he is a man of great self control and determination. You hate him but you also like him and wish that you could be somewhat like him yourself.

I know there is going to be a small amount of controversy with Tywin smiling in this chapter. I debated this but I felt it fits the character: he hates to smile and refuses to do it but he does it each morning as part of a ritual to remind himself of the pain he suffers from the loss of his wife… and that pain drives him to continue on. Don't worry… Tywin won't begin cracking jokes and laughing anytime soon.

Tywin's character is also a wonderful example of me blending book and show. While I am going to do my best to keep this more towards the books, some things just have to go show wise and the wonderful performance by Charles Dance is one that I can't deny in this story.

Now then, some minor notes. I did research and couldn't find any reference to Tywin having a squire or the Maester of Casterly Rock. As such, I had to make them up. Not much to say about the squire but the maester's looks are based on my materal grandfather… but not the attitude. My grandpa would have laughed in Tywin's face and called him 'Sally'. Of course, he called all the guys in the family by girls names, so…

Next chapter will take us back on the road with Pepper, where we learn a bit more about the House of Tony Stark… and move a step closer to the birth of the Iron Man.


	6. Pepper I

_**Pepper**_

"Are you excited to return home, milady?"

Pepper looked up from the small book she was reading and smiled at Sandee. The girl was ten-and-eight and filled with a youthful vigor, made all the more apparent by the hints of baby fat that remained on her round face. Many commented that the young girl and her lady made an odd pair, what with Pepper being quite tall and lean with a shock of red hair while Sandee was short and a bit plump with dark curls. "Yes… yes I am. Are you?"

"Yes milady," the handmaiden said. They were well into their third week of the journey and it would be at least another three before they arrived back at Iron Pointe. Pepper had spent much of the trip in the wagon carriage, reading of the history of Westeros and enjoying the company of her handmaiden. Tony liked to keep a hard pace and there was little chance for her to stretch her legs and see the countryside. They would break camp in the morning, stop at noon most days to get their ration of bread and cured meat and a cup of water or ale, then ride on while eating their lunch. They would only stop when they supped and would not start again till the next morning. It was a hard journey and she knew most ladies would not be able to handle it, but Pepper had made such travels plenty of times and was well use to them.

"Did you at least enjoy your time in Winterfell?" Pepper asked.

Sandee considered this for a moment before smiling shyly. "I suppose it is lovely in its own way milady, and they were more than kind but no, I did not. It is much too cold in the North and I do not like those heavy furs we were forced to wear."

"Well, I don't know if you were forced to wear them… you needed to if you didn't want to freeze."

Sandee giggled at that. "That is true, milady, that is true. The North is so dreary and sad. It seems that they are forever in mourning. Even their joy seems tinted in despair."

"It is a hard place, to be sure. Much different that the South."

"Is it true that Lord Stark grew up there?" Sandee asked. "I cannot imagine it."

"I can't either. It seems like such a strange place for him to be born into." Pepper glanced out the window, gazing upon the low sloped hills that lay spread out before them. "Our lord is a man of the South, even if the North runs through his veins."

"Milady, why has Lord Stark never changed his family name? There are many families that do so."

Pepper set her book down on the seat beside her, resting her chin upon her hand. _'That much is true,' _she thought to herself. _'Even Northerners have done so. The Karstarks are merely Starks from a separate branch from the main family.' _She'd brought up to Tony once just such a suggestion, only for her husband to laugh and tell her that he would never do such a thing. He claimed that he had been born a Stark and made his fortune as a Stark and would not surrender his family name purely because he had decided to take a path different from that of his relatives. He was stubborn like that and would not change his name purely to separate himself from the Northern Starks. Truth be told, Pepper didn't mind that he wished to remain a Stark; she had grown use to the name and could not see herself being the Lady of any other house.

It was only when the sun began to dip below the horizon that Tony called from them to set up camp. Their arrangements were nothing like the royal family's, with their tents that were more like silk-lined rooms. They did not sleep under the stars wrapped in furs, of course; their tents were merely smaller, with no grand tables or fainting couches. There was only a low bed for Tony and herself and sack mattresses for Rhodey and the upper command. The rest laid on piled furs that doubled as blankets. It made for quicker setup and dismantling which suited Pepper just fine, as that meant they got to return to Iron Pointe all the more sooner.

"Jon," Pepper called out. "Jon, a moment."

The young man stroked his horse's muzzle and gave him a final scratch behind the ears before walking towards her. Beside him was his direwolf pup Ghost, though one would not realize the beast was only a few months old from his already great size. Pepper had been shocked to learn that the wolf, which looked to be already fully mature, was only a few months old.

'_And they say he will keep growing till he is the size of a horse,' _Pepper thought with a slight shiver.

"Yes, my lady?" Jon asked, reaching down and placing his hand on Ghost's head, signaling him to stop.

"I don't feel much like eating I my carriage tonight, not with us finally get a bit of warmth."

"I'll get the long table, my lady," Jon said.

"Jon, you are not a servant," Pepper said with a laugh. "I meant that I wished for you to sup with me."

The boy swallowed. "Is… is that proper, my lady?"

"Tony won't mind," Pepper said as she stepped out of the carriage, motioning for Sandee to hurry and let two of the male servants know she would need tables and chairs set up. "He's already told me he wishes to sup with Rhodey and Happy tonight, so you will be keeping me company."

"I didn't mean that, my lady." Jon looked down and Pepper could tell he wanted to fidget; it was only years of etiquette training that saw him not do so. "It is not proper for me to sup with you as you are a lady and I… I am a bastard."

Pepper's smile fell and in its place was a stern frown. "You know my husband does not like that word, Jon."

"Aye, my lady," Jon said quietly.

"What makes you think I would feel any differently?"

"I'm sorry."

"Never call yourself that horrid word again in my presence, is that clear? I am not able to order you to stop thinking such thoughts about yourself but that does not mean I have to hear them."

"I understand."

Pepper smiled and motioned for Jon to follow her. Two of the servants were unfolding the long table; an invention of Tony's that allowed for travelers to fold the piece up quickly and take up little space. The same was true of the two chairs Sandee brought to her, opening them up and pulling one out for her lady. "Sit." Pepper accepted a linen cloth from Sandee while another server brought out bread and jams to tide Jon and her over until their meal was ready. "Tony tells me you've never been south of the Neck before."

"That is true, my lady," Jon said, clearly out of his element. He was unused to being waited on and Pepper forced herself not to laugh at his nervousness.

"How often have you traveled away from Winterfell?" Pepper asked.

"A handful of times, my lady," Jon said as one of the servants poured him a cup of Arbor Gold. He looked at the wine, swirling it for a moment, before taking a tiny sip. Pepper smiled as she watched his eyes clearly light up upon tasting the finest wine in all of the Seven Kingdoms. "But never too far. A hunting trip here or there but those only last two days at most."

"You are in for quite an adventure then, Jon."

"Is Iron Pointe really that different from Winterfell?" Jon asked.

One of the cooks brought over two plates, each one filled with fish and boiled potatoes, both covered in a sweet-sour glaze. Pepper took her knife and fork and cut off a small piece of salmon, her eyes closing as she savored the taste. Jon, meanwhile, was proving that the rowdy behavior of the Northerners was not a persistent trait; he carefully sliced his potato into easy to handle chunks, swirling them in the glaze before selecting one piece and stabbing it with his fork.

'_He acts like the young lord he should be, if not for fate,' _Pepper thought to herself before speaking. "Sometimes I think that Aegon had it wrong when he united the Kingdoms. It brought peace, yes, but the South and the North will never be one and the same. The North is wild and untamed and large and full of darkness and cold and hard, solid men. The South is the land of flowers and gardens and beauty and crafting. It is a land of music and laughter and light. To compare Winterfell to Iron Pointe is like comparing Riverrun to Braavos."

"I fear that I will have difficulties adapting," Jon said, his nervousness causing him to hack into his fish.

"You will manage. The rest of us managed to find our footing and I am sure you will too."

Jon raised an eyebrow in surprise. "You are not from the South?"

"No, I'm not." Pepper said. "I grew up across the Narrow Sea, in Quorth." She watched Jon's face, amused at the way he seemed to struggle with that information. "You are surprised."

"You look and sound like one from the Seven Kingdoms."

"Just because I was not born in Westeros does not mean I am not of Westeros."

Jon groaned at that. "You sound like the Imp." His eyes widened the moment the words left his mouth. "I… I am sorry, my lady, I did not-"

Pepper laughed. "Jon, you are family, even if your father refuses to acknowledge you. Tony and I say you are a Stark and that is all that will matter at Iron Pointe. So stop treating me like you would the other Lady Stark or another noble lady. I want you to feel comfortable around me." She paused glancing over to where Tony was sitting with Rhodey, Happy, and several of their swordsmen, a mug of ale in their hands and their laughter ringing out across the clearing. "Besides, it would be easier for you to begin treating me in a more familiar way."

"And why is that my... and why is that?"

Pepper snickered and then laughed even harder when she saw Jon give a start at her laughter. "Because, Jon, if you keep acting like that around Tony and I he will use it to his own advantage and make you the butt of his japes."

Jon scowled at that. "It wouldn't be the first time."

'_Poor boy,' _Pepper thought to herself. Tony had groused to her about Jon's treatment at Winterfell; it was one of the reasons she had agreed to his mad plan to bring Jon with them to Iron Pointe. She looked upon the young man, so handsome and sweet and noble and felt her temper rising at all those that had convinced Jon that his only chance in life was to throw his life away in the frozen North, guarding a possibly-magical Wall.

"My la… I mean Lady Virgina-"

"Pepper, Jon, please. I have refused to answer to Virgina since I could talk."

"I… I couldn't," Jon stammered. "It isn't proper-"

"In the North," Pepper told him. "But as I told you, we are not in the North anymore."

"Still, I do not know-"

Jon never got to finish, as the rest of his words were cut off by a gurgling scream. Pepper whipped around, a cry tearing through her throat as she stared at the cook, the poor man's hands clawing at the arrow shaft that was embedded in his throat. Blood gushed down the front of his tunic, joining with the dried stains of the many meals he had prepared, before he collapsed to the ground with a wet 'glug'. A horse cried out to her left and Pepper turned, stomach dropping as one of Tony's swordsmen was dragged behind the panicked mare, several arrows sticking out of her flank like porcupine quils.

"Get down!" Jon screamed, tackling her and sending her to the ground. Pepper gasped, the air knocked out of her, dimly watching as arrows whooshed through the air right where her head had once been. She could feel the mud soaking into her dress and her stomach ached from where Jon had struck her. The young man dragged her back towards their table, kicking it onto its side and pulling Pepper and himself behind it, using the thick planks as a barricade. Pepper panted, looking out across the field, the fog that had permeated her brain flushed away at the sight of the carnage that lay before her. A large patch of grass had been stained crimson by the cook's blood, marring the beauty of the field. One of the swordsmen had been shot in the leg but he refused to lay down and die. He had his arm wrapped around a thick oak, his free hand gripping his sword as he bellowed for the attackers to come forth. Sandee had managed to get back into the carriage and Pepper frantically waved for her to get down and keep out of sight, lest she become a target. Somewhere in the distance she heard Happy bellow in outrage but she couldn't see him.

"What… what is-"

"Bandits," Jon said, reaching for his sword. "Stay down."

"Jon, no," Pepper said. "Let Rhodey and his men handle this."

Jon shook his head. "It is the Northern blood in me… a good man doesn't let others die for him."

"You were raised by a Lord, were you not, Jon?" Pepper gripped Jon's arm, trying to tug him back down. She could hear the screams and hoots of the raiders echoing all around her, mixed with the clang of steel upon steel. "A Lord hires men such as Rhodey to do such things. It is not our purpose to get in the way."

"Lord Antony knows this?" Jon asked.

"Of course!" Pepper practically screamed.

"Then why is he running around out there with a sword." Pepper just stared at Jon, a cold dread washing over her. She slowly crawled to the edge of their barricade, peaking out around the corner. The thieves were dressed in patchwork armor and colors, no rhyme or reason to their garb. Pepper knew that this was no noble lord's soldiers; these were little more than a roving band of cutthroats. They wielded swords and bows and spears and clubs and one even wielded a great reaping scythe. Torches had been flung about their camp and grassfires had sprung up and were spewing gray smoke across the newly minted battlefield.

Rhodey was right in the midst of the battle, weaving from enemy to enemy, cutting down all that stood against him. He had out his wide Valyarian short-sword out and wore a black and silver shield upon his left arm though he used it more as a blunt instrument. One of the bandits, a heavy set bruiser wielding a sawtooth sword, charged at Rhodey with a roar that would have down a great bear proud. Rhodey dodged the brute's sloppy strike and swung his shield at his face, the heavy bandit's nose exploding in gore upon contact. He reached up towards his damaged face, only to howl in agony as Rhodey slid his blade between the plates of his patchwork armor and gutted him. The knight did not wait to watch his foe tumble to the ground, choosing instead to move on to a overly tall and lean thief who dual wielded two thin blades.

The rest of their men weren't having an easy of a time as Rhodey. In a fair fight the swordsman and soldiers would have won easily but the arrow storm had decimated their ranks, leaving many men already wounded before the bandits had rushed them. Those that were able to fight were focused on circling their fallen comrades, working to protect them from the spears and blades of the raiders. Ghost added to the confusion and chaos, leaping at one of the bandits and clamping his jaws around the man's tender throat. A horrific wail filled the air as the man fell to the ground, Ghost shaking his head back and forth as he ripped apart the jugular. There was movement to her right and Pepper turned in time to finally spot Happy. He was as stern as ever, his sword hacking at any that got in his way, blood oozing from several shallow cuts on his arms and chest.

In the midst of it all was Tony. Pepper didn't know where he'd gotten the sword he currently clung to like it was lifeline but there he was, holding it tight and looking around half in a daze. Once or twice a thief would rush him and Tony would give several wild swipes before one of his men would take over, allowing their lord to escape. The problem was that Tony never took the opportunity to find safe harbor, choosing to continue to wander the battlefield, trying to join up with someone to double-team a raider.

"Tony!" Pepper screamed. "Tony!" Her jaw dropped as her husband turned and had the audacity to actually _wave_ at her before heft his borrowed sword and rushing towards a man that looked like his mother had mated with an ox. "If he survives this I'm going to kill him!" Pepper screeched.

"I'm more concerned about us surviving, my lady," Jon said, getting into a crouch.

"Stop calling me-" Pepper let out a scream as a raider fell into the table, cracking it under his bulk. One of the soldiers ran towards the thief, only to receive a jab from the outlaw's spear for his trouble.

The bandit turned, leering at Pepper. He ran his tongue along his yellowed teeth, looking upon her like a hungry mountain lion. His left arm was heavily muscled while his right was much thinner, leading Pepper to dimly realize he must have been a blacksmith before he had turned to crime to provide his coins. A mop of coarse dark hair hung over his brow and broad nose and lips made him look more like some forest beast than a man. He grabbed the table and pushed it towards her, causing Pepper to scramble back. She lost her footing and landed on her rear, staring up at the man in shock.

"Well well well," he growled, taking a plodding step towards her. "Whadda we've here?"

"She's not for you," Jon declared. He'd managed to sneak up behind the man and swung his sword, slashing the man's leather-covered back. The former-blacksmith bellowed and turned around, Jon forced to back up the bandit tried to spear the young man.

"Ya should've minded yar own business!" the thief grumbled, jabbing at Jon's chest; it was only Jon's nimble feet that kept him from being run through. "If ya'd ran ya might've lived ta see a 'nodder day, little lordling."

"I was thinking the same thing," Jon said, grabbing at the thief's spear and trying to yank it from his hands.

The man, however, was much stronger than Jon and was able to pull the young man towards him. He brought his weaker fist down upon Jon's head like a hammer blow, the boy stumbling and falling to his knees. "Ya shouldn't fight what ya can't kill, lordling!" He brought his foot down, pressing it into Jon's chest. He clenched his teeth together in a feral sneer, his mighty left arm hefting up his spear for the killing blow.

Pepper dove forward, grabbing Jon's fallen sword and swinging it at the blackmith's leg. Her arms trembled as the blade struck bone and she let out a cry when the sword's pommel nearly hit her face as it was ripped from her grip. The bandit crashed to the ground, his howls joining those of Ghost as his injured leg flailed out. Jon stumbled forward, driven by pure adrenaline, and snatched up the man's spear and drove it through his throat.

"T-thank you," Jon gasped, doubling over as he struggled to catch his breath.

"Thank you," Pepper said, walking over to him and wrapping her arm around him. "Careful now, that was a bad blow to your head."

Jon swallowed and Pepper could tell he was struggling to keep the contents of his stomach from spilling out onto his boots. The sounds of battle were dying down and when Pepper finally looked up she saw Rhodey hurrying towards them, his shield and shield both dripped with gore and sweat dripped from his brow and stained his shirt. He looked down at the blacksmith's cooling corpse and calmly reached down and ripped Jon's sword from the man's leg, shaking the bits of stringy muscle from it before holding it out for Jon to have.

"Your first one?" Rhodey asked, reaching down and using the dead bandit's shirt to clean off his own blade while Jon sheathed his own.

"Yes, Ser Jamie."

"I thought as much." Rhodey looked across the field in disgust. "A bloody mess."

"Literally," Pepper said, shifting away from a hunk of flesh that lay near her feet.

"They were foolish to attack us," Jon coughed, his hand rubbing up and down his chest.

"They were greedy," Rhodey countered. "Some thieves steal because they are hungry. Some because they are desperate. These ones though, they do it because they want what they don't have and they refuse to actually work for it or pay the price."

"I… think they paid," Pepper said, turned away from the carnage. "Now, where is Tony? I'm going to throttle him for wandering around like that."

Rhodey paused, looking about. "Where is Tony?"

"What do you mean? I thought he was with you."

"With me? I was too busy taking out those guards. I'm not his wet nurse Pepper-"

"I'm not saying you are but I thought you'd at least watch out for him!"

"I did watch out for him but it's not my fault he didn't do what needed to be done."

"This is Tony!" Pepper shouted. "When does he ever do what he's supposed to?" Her earlier revulsion was forgotten and she leapt stepped over the dead blacksmith's body, the trim of her dress dragging through his blood as she looked about with wild eyes. "Tony! Tony! TONY!"

~MC~MC~MC~

Author's Notes: Sorry about the long delay with this, got caught up in some things and thus was delayed a week or so posting this chapter. We get a bit of action, a bit of blood, and a bit of info about Pepper, Tony and their group. Next up we find out just what has happened to Tony and set the stage for his transformation into the Iron Man.


	7. Tony III

_**Tony**_

The coarse rope bit into his wrists, tearing into his skin every time he shifted. The ground was cold and bits of twig and sharp rocks dug into his rear and legs. Tony blinked his eyes, trying to shake away the stars that danced in his line of sight. His jaw ached and his tongue felt fat in his mouth, like it was wrapped in cotton. Dried blood ran from his left temple to his chin and the back of his head throbbed with every beat of his heart. His boots had been removed and he could feel heat of the large bonfire the band of thieves had set up on his bare soles.

They'd ripped off his jacket and vest and were passing both around amongst themselves, each trying to claim it as his own. His shirt had been cut open and now hung in tatters on his frame. The main bulk of the survivors of the raid, those who weren't fighting over Tony's clothes, were gathered around the fire, watching as a large boar was spun on a spit, juices popping everyone once and a while. Tony's head lulled to one side and he saw that one of the bandits was slamming a blunt axe against a small chest they'd managed to claim from one of the supply wagons.

"I… I wouldn't bother with that if I were you." Tony looked skyward, wincing slightly.

"Our guest is awake, boys!" One of the bandits, dressed in chainmail and brown leather with red lines painted along the arms and chest, stomped towards Tony, grabbing him by the chin and forcing the weapons maker to look at him. "Welcome to our humble home, Lord Stark. Might I offer you anything to make you more comfortable?"

"Oh, a glass of wine would be lovely," Tony said. "A blanket would be nice too. I'd prefer silk though over cotton. I have delicate skin. Rashes and all that, really nasty." The bandits let out a roar of laughter and Tony decided to join in with them, treating the entire situation as a joke. "Yeah, it's a curse really but I suffer through it."

"Oh, how difficult your life must be, Lord Stark!" brown vest declared. "We of course would know nothing of such things. Ours is an existence of pleasure and ease!"

"Yeah, you guys seem to have pretty pleasant lives… I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

Brown vest let go of Tony and backed away, giving him a sweeping bow. "Phyllup of West Water, at your service."

"Well, Phyllup of West Water, it is wonderful to meet you and your… friends? Associates? Brothers in arms? Whatever you want to call it you all look like you are fine, upstanding kidnappers who would never think of harming someone who is being polite or who is too handsome to die."

"I don't know," one of the raiders called out, "killing handsome and pretty things is a specialty of ours." That earned another round of laughter from the criminals.

"Well, it is always good to have a hobby." Tony grimaced as he heard the ax strike the chest once again. "Seriously, you are just wasting your time. Why don't you have some boar? Smells very good, sure it tastes great too… did you use a sugar glaze on that or-"

Phyllup grabbed Tony once more, his thumb pressing against the lord's windpipe. "You know, I have done this many times, Lord Stark. You are not the first to be honored by joining us. And I have found that whenever a man tells me to leave something alone… it is worth my trouble to examine it. Whenever a woman tells me to not do something… it feels so wonderful to do."

Tony tried hard to hide his disgust. Phyllup released his hold just enough to allow him to breathe. "Well… I guess there is a first time for everything-"

Phyllup backhanded him. "Please don't make me do that again."

"I don't want you to do that again," Tony murmured.

"We are on the same page! Wonderful!" He leaned in close, Tony's nose scrunching up as the rancid scent of old beer and rotting meat struck him right in the face. "If you want us to get along… stop telling us what to do."

"Got it. Do what you want, I don't care, crack open the chest, don't, not up to me." Tony heard a heavy crack and licked his lips. "Not a word from me, nope, no way, none."

"What is this?" the ax-wielding bandit bellowed, lifting up a blue gown and shaking it at Tony. The chest, with its broken lock, lay tossed aside on the ground.

"I think it is a Lannisport design." He looked over at one raider who was missing his nose, one of his ears, and had blackened head-wound running along his forehead. "You would look lovely in that. Really, I mean it. Matches your eyes-"

Phyllup struck him again. "What is this shit?"

"My wife's gowns. She locks them up, not sure why. I guess she thinks they are going to get stolen or something…" Tony closed his eyes and grit his teeth, waiting for a moment before slowly letting one eye slide open. "Sorry, thought you were going to-" The crack of Phyllup's hand against his jawbone, "-smack me again."

"You think this is a game?" Phyllup snarled, all signs of playfulness leaving him.

"Well, I did before you hit me… I can't say this is the first time I've been tied up and stripped before." Phyllup reared back and Tony cringed. "Ok, ok! You are serious, very serious. Phyllup the Very Serious! Got it!"

The leader of the raiders nodded, stepping back and running his grubby fingers through his tangled hair. Tony was surprised his hand didn't get stuck. "Good. I am very pleased you are beginning to understand the gravity of the situation." Phyllup walked back to the stump he had been using and sat down, motioning towards the shadows. Tony heard a muffled yelp and then a nude girl, maybe five-and-ten, entered the clearly, her body covered in burns and scars. Her every step was stilted, as if every movement caused her pain. "Down," Phyllup said and the girl dropped to her knees. Tony shut his eyes and turned his head, letting out a pained sigh, hoping he was wrong about what Phyllup was about to do next. "Oh, are you bashful, Lord Stark?"

"No no," Tony said, trying to stay casual. "Just… something in my eye. By all means, you and your… lady friend… just keep doing what you're doing."

"Lady friend?" No-Nose laughed. "Look at that, whore, you've been moved up to lady friend!"

Phyllup let out a groan and shoved the girl away. The bandit stood up, adjusted himself, then reached towards the fire and pulling out a long metal pole with a flat ring attached to the end. He looked at it for a moment before prodding at some coals, his smile made all the more sinister by the flickering flames. Tony's eyes flicked towards the broken girl that lay crumpled by the fire.

"Oh, do not worry yourself… this is not for her." Phyllup began to walk around the fire, the rest of his men quieting down and paying close attention. Tony suddenly had the vision of his septa leading story time for all the children at his father's holdfast. "Do you know how we came to acquire this wonderful little item?"

"The girl or the prod?"

"The girl." He lazily prodded one of the larger timbers, sparks shooting up as it fell onto the hot coals. "She came to us the same way we acquire much of what we have."

"By stealing?" Tony asked.

The thieves chuckled at that. "No, Lord Stark, not by theft. We still do go on raids, from time to time, when our blood needs to be boiled, but the days of that providing us our bread and salt have long since past." Phyllup pulled the poker out again, smiling as he examined the glowing ring at the end. "Have you ever heard of the Dohraki? They live across the Narrow Sea and their hordes can stretch for miles. They are so fierce that now, when they approach a city, they do not need to attack its walls. The good people happily offer them gold and food and women and slaves, all in the hope that the Dohraki will turn their attention onto someone new.

"When I head those tales and thought to myself that those savages had a brilliant idea. Why raid and pillage when you could simply receive your prizes with the promise to do no harm to those you target? Such a strategy has made us all… very happy." Phyllup took a moment to thrust the poker once more into the flames before reaching down to tenderly touch the nude girl's cheek. "We did well in the Reach. Lords feared us and travelers packed double just to be prepared to give us tribute. They'll write songs about those days, mark my words Lord Stark! Tell me, do you of Lord Oaker?"

Tony did. Oaker was one of the Tyrell bannermen, a decent fighter and a terrible person. He'd won many victories against his enemies by sacrificing his men in needless charges and pointless attacks. When he looked upon a person he saw them not as something living but as something of value, weighing the risk and reward of their lives.

"This is his only daughter. A pretty thing, don't you think?" Phyllip forced the girl up and licked the side of her face; the child didn't even blink. "He was the smart one, Lord Stark. So many lords have daughters and then have to pay out portions of their wealth to marry her off to another lord. By giving her to us Lord Oaker saved himself a dowry and got us to leave the Reach alone."

Tony's jaw set and bucked forward, his eyes dark and murderous. There was simply no way he could pretend to be civil with the monsters that sat before him.

"Oh, he doesn't like that boys! We've got ourselves an actual heroic lord, out to save the innocent. That is a rare thing in the Seven Kingdoms. You hear about it and plenty try and play the part, but to see one in person? It's like finding an Other!" Phyllup leered at him. "You especially are a surprise, Lord Stark. Heroic and noble are not words we smallfolk use for the likes of you." Snatching the prod, Phyllup advanced towards Tony, the weapons-maker struggling against his bonds as the raider brought the glowing hot brand closer and closer to his bare chest. Tony could feel the heat of the burning ring and even though it hadn't yet touched his skin his chest already began to throb in pain. "You and your friends believe themselves so much better than the rest of us. You view us as cattle and sheep, only there to supply you with more wealth. You don't care about any of us, Lord Stark, not a single one of us. The only thing that matters is your own greed."

"Listen… listen," Tony said, sucking in his chest to try and get away from the brand. "I… I get it. You're angry with me. I can't blame you that is a common-" the brand nearly grazed his left nipple and Tony let out a yelp, "-common! Common feeling. I tend to rub people the wrong way! Talk too much, drink too much, talk when I drink and drink when I talk. But I'm sure we can work something out… no need to be hasty or anything."

Phyllup merely stared at him. "That is all you lords can think about, isn't it? That you can just toss money and titles about and you will be forgiven. Men like us, we would be headed for the wall or find our heads on spikes if we were caught. But you lords… you can murder and rape and steal and break every law made by the king and the gods and you believe that you'll never have to face physically punishment because you were blessed to be born into wealth! Steal a man's land? Give his son a knighthood and all is forgiven! Fill his daughter up with a bastard? Why, just toss some coins about and no one cares!"

"I'm… I'm sensing that you have some issues with me… or people like me. That's no reason to go and mutilate me, right?" Tony could feel that the ropes that bound him had cut into his wrists and more of his blood was oozing from him. "Why don't you put your burning stick down and we can discuss my ransom… and I realize how ironic that sounds, since you were complaining about throwing money about-"

"You still haven't realized your situation, have you my lord? This raid was not about kidnapping you… it was about claiming you."

Phyllup lunged forward and Tony screamed in agony as the heated ring burned his flesh. While it wasn't as hot as it had been when first emerging from the flames, the ring still held heat and Tony howled as it melted his skin and seared his muscles. He could feel it pressing against his collar bone and through his pain-induced delirium he feared that it would shatter and Phyllup would burn his heart right out of his chest. Tony thrashed and screamed but the raider kept the brand pressed tight to his chest, refusing to let go. The lord of Iron Pointe howled in agony, several of the other cuts and wounds on his body bursting open once more as his muscles seized.

The raider pulled the brand away, bits of skin clinging to the metal like melted cheese. Tony gasped, tears streaming from his eyes, each gasping breath he took sending another stab of pain through his quaking body. He heard laughter and let out another cry when a pail of cold water was thrown on him, soaking him to the bone. He managed to open his eyes and watched numbly as steam rose from his scarred chest.

"You've been betrayed, my lord. Another, with more power than you can ever hope to have, took it in his head to have you dealt with. He will ensure that none of us are ever punished for your death… so long as we make it last. I don't know why he wants you to suffer and I honestly don't care… hell, I would have done this for nothing." Phyllup thrust the poker into the flames, waiting a moment before pulling it free once more. "Now you know what it's like to be us. Now you know what it is like to be expendable. Your money is worthless, your titles are worthless… you are no different than my little whore. I get to play with you… and toss you away." He walked back to Tony, pointing the brand at him. "Now… should I go for the face…" he let the poker slowly dip till it lined up with Tony's manhood. "Boys, I think I'd like to have his pants-"

Tony mutely heard a whistle fill the air, followed by a wet 'thwack'. He looked up, his body shivering from the pain and the cold water, and stared at the captor. Phyllup had dropped the poker, not even noticing that the heated ring was burning into his shoe. The raider gasped dumbly, reaching out and touching the arrow that was now lodged through his mouth and out the back of his throat. He looked at Tony, confused, before toppling to the side, crimson blood gushing from his mouth.

Tony watched, eyes wide, as Rhodey stormed into the camp with 20 of his best swordsmen and guards. The raiders leapt up but their drunkenness had made them sluggish and led them to set aside their weapons and that cost them precious time. The soldiers of Iron Pointe were in a battle frenzy, seeking not only to recover their lord but avenge those that had fallen in the raid. The ropes ensured that Tony would remain in one place and all he could do was watch as his men butchered his captors. A few of the raiders attempted to flee and were rewarded with arrows through their backs for their troubles. The swordsmen fell upon these wounded man, hacking them to pieces before moving on to the next. Rhodey was dealing the most damage, his Valyrian short sword singing as it removed one thief's head from his neck. Delirious from pain, Tony's mind went back to how Rhodey had obtained that blade.

It had been in Bravos, shortly after Tony had met the man that would become commander of his forces. The two of them had been drinking and, as Pepper so lovingly put it, Tony's mouth went off before his brain could realize what he was saying. Tony was still a bit fuzzy on how the bet had come about but the end result saw Rhodey challenging 10 members of some mercenary group; Tony honestly couldn't remember with one. Each was a sellsword, known for their skill with weapons and their effective battle techniques. Three of them, the leaders of the mob, had carried Valyrian steel daggers and believed that Rhodey would die by their first man's blade. After the dark-skinned warrior had taken out the first three the rest of the company had broken the battle pact and charged. Rhodey had killed them all, a whirlwind of death, and claimed their daggers as his right of conquest. Tony, in gratitude, had melted the daggers down and reforged them into a short, wide broad sword with a pommel of black lined with silver and gifted it to his friend on the day he was knighted.

"Lord Antony!" Tony was torn from his thoughts by someone cutting his bonds and when he opened his eyes he found himself looking upon Jon Snow's face. The young man had his bow slung over his shoulder and his brow was wet with sweat. Jon knelt in front of him, running his hands along Tony's face and peeling his eyes open. "Lord Antony, can you hear me?"

"I wish I could say this is the worst I've ever felt," Tony said weakly, nearly sliding down onto the ground before Jon caught him and hauled him back up.

"We need the maester!" Jon shouted.

Rhodey hurried over, taking a moment to kick one of the still twitching thieves in the head. "No good scum," Rhodey spat as he looked upon Tony's mutilated chest. "Yorrick, go get Maester Jarvis now! Tell him to bring everything he has to treat burns. Nob, make sure Pepper doesn't come anywhere near here until I say so! She doesn't need to see him like this." Rhodey scowled as he looked Tony over. "And send word we ride! Jarvis won't be able to do much out here other than stabilize him! We need to get to a castle or a keep now!"

"Pepper…" Tony groaned. "She… Pepper…"

"She's fine, Lord Antony," Jon said, looking around the ruins of the campsite. His jaw was clenched and his hands balled up in fists at his sides. "What was their purpose?"

"Torture… death…" Tony mumbled. Rhodey slowly helped him to his feet and Tony fought back the pained cry that desperately tried to claw its way out of his throat. "The girl… is she…?"

"Girl?" Rhodey asked. "Tony what girl?"

"Girl… they had… tortured her too…"

Rhodey merely nodded. "Jon, see if you can find the girl." The boy nodded, stepping around the corpses that littered the ground and avoiding the swordmen that were sweeping through the camp. Tony's head lulled to one side, resting on Rhodey's shoulder, watching as his men collect the discarded weapons and tore through the crates and chests the thieves had gathered, determining what would be worth to take back with them. For one dull, horrible moment, he saw them as no different than the raiders that took him. "They managed to get only a couple bags of grain and a chest."

"How… how many did we lose?"

"Eight swordsman, three of the page boys, and the cook. Jarvis is working to save another two of my men but I'm not confident." Rhodey looked over at Tony, shifting him slightly. "What the hell was all this about?"

"Not here," Tony stated. Jon was crouched over a pale body but Tony felt his heart sink as the boy shook his head. "The girl?" he called out.

"Gone. Throat was slit in all the confusion."

Tony grit his teeth. "Damn." He looked at Rhodey, mustering up as much of his strength as he could. "We need to burn the bodies or bury them. Destroy the camp so no one stumbles upon it. Take everything we can and scatter the rest."

"Tony, why-"

"Just… just do it, Rhodey. Tell the men they… they don't speak… speak about this to anyone."

Rhodey looked ready to argue but finally relented. "Ok Tony, ok." He began to bark out orders, Jon moving to help two of the men load up an empty crate with the acquired daggers, swords and axes. Tony, for his part, clung to Rhodey, knowing that his legs wouldn't be able to support his weight. His chest ached horribly but it was nothing to what he felt in his heart as he watched Lord Oaker's girl being covered up. "Tony… what was all this about?"

"Betrayal," Tony said as he slipped into unconsciousness.

~MC~MC~MC~

Author's Note: Not much to say about this chapter. I didn't feel like stringing out Tony's capture for long and it wouldn't fit this world to have Tony captured to make weapons. Better fitting that someone in Westeros wants Tony dead… and better fitting he make whoever did it think the raiders took the money and ran.

Next chapter things switch up as we move across the Narrow Sea to Daenerys… and another character from the Marvel universe is introduced as her new protector…


	8. Daenerys I

**Daenerys**

As she rode along with the rest of the horsemen Daenerys puzzled over a question that had been plaguing her ever since she had been a small child: was her life as it was now better or worse than it would have been had her father not fallen and her family driven into exile?

She knew it was a silly question. Had her father, King Aerys, have won the war she would have been the princess of the Seven Kingdoms. She would have known only the best, with the wealth of Westeros at her beck and call. She would have lived in the Red Keep and worn only the finest dresses and had servants to attend her every need. She would have had not just Viserys to rely upon but her father and her eldest brother Rhaegar and his family. She would have had nieces and nephews and a sister-in-law and perhaps even her mother would have survived, had there been better maesters and healers about to assist the Queen in Dany's birth. She would have married the greatest and most powerful lord in the Seven Kingdoms and blessed his house with the blood of kings.

But that existence was not to be. Her father was dead, her mother was dead, her eldest brother was dead. Her only family was Viserys, the 'begger king' as some said when they thought Dany couldn't hear them. They had lived off of gifts and the kindness of others, never staying in one place for long and never allowed to truly develop any sense of home. Her brother was the one who had raised her but his way of 'caring' for her had been to sell her off to a brutal savage warrior in exchange for an army to take back the Iron Throne. Her life would now involve riding with the savage men and women of the Dothraki from one village to another, choking on dried meat and foul smelling wine when Khal Drogo wasn't forcing himself upon her.

And yet... another part of her whispered that the life she led now was so much better than what she might have had in Westeros as the daughter of the king. Had Rhaegar won he would have been named king once their father passed away and Dany would have been merely seen as a hanger on, someone next to the power but not holding it. She would have had no hope of having any sort of claim to the throne, not with her eldest brother and all his children being his heirs. She glanced at Khal Drogo and wondered if he were any worse than a lord of Westeros. She had heard tales of young girls being sold to deviant old men with shriveled cocks and the tongues of cats, forced to stand meekly at their side in front of the entire court as they were pawed at by their husbands and their withered, gnarled hands. Khal Drogo was strong and proud and fierce, a powerful ruler in his own right that answered to no man save himself. Yes, he had forced himself upon her, brutally taking his pleasure from pounding her slight form. But would a fat, old lord of the Seven Kingdoms have been any better? Would he have been kind and gentle… or would he have done the same thing as Drogo, raping her even if her father was the king?

She also thought, as she looked about the tall grasses that reached above her head even though she rode upon a horse, her silver, that had she remained in Westeros she would have lived a rather dull life. Even before her marriage to Khal Drogo she had seen many sights and marvels in the lands that now served as her home in exile. In the Seven Kingdoms she may have only seen the insides of a few keeps and a tournament or two in King's Landing. Any friends or guests she would have seen would have been carefully determined by her family, making any 'choice' she made not truly her own. But across the Narrow Sea she had witnessed marvels and delights, dining with men and women of different creed and beliefs. She had met scoundrels and rich merchants, each with their own tale to tell. Her world had been opened up and Daenerys was thankful for that.

'Of course it cannot last,' Daenerys thought to herself as the Dothraki stopped their horses so that they might fill their water skins at a small river that ran across their path. 'Soon Viserys will grow impatient and demand Khal Drogo honor his end of their bargain. The horde will sail into Westeros and I along with them.' She knew there was little chance she would be left behind; the Khal would not risk leaving behind his silver-haired bride. She was a symbol of his strength, no different than his braid. Dany did not think about what would come after that and what would happen after the war. She knew her fate if her brother failed; King Robert would not allow her to escape a second time. Viserys' victory would leave her final fate even more unassured. Would the new king of Westeros truly allow his sister to remain in the hands of the Dothraki? Would he force Khal Drogo to bend the knee and stay in Westeros? Would he send him back? Would Dany remain wed to him or would she be freed? And if she were free, what then? Who would want to marry a woman who'd been befouled by a barbarian?

"Are you well, Khalesi?" Jorah Mormont asked, pulling his horse next to her's. He looked upon her with worry. "You look pale just now."

"I am fine," Dany said touched by the man's concern. Jorah was much like Daenerys and her brother: he too was exiled from his home. He too had found a place with the Dothraki and he too, she knew, could not hope for things to remain as they were forever. He was of use to Viserys at the moment, acting as an interpreter so that the true heir could converse with the men that would provide him his army. But how long could he act in that role and what part would he play once the war for the Iron Throne was decided? While Jorah clearly hoped that aiding the Viserys would lead to the end of his exile nothing was truly assured. Much like Dany, Jorah was little more than a leaf in the wind.

"Are you sure?" Jorah asked. "We have ridden hard and long... it would not be shameful to need some rest for a moment."

"Thank you but no," Daenerys said, nudging her silver to move forward. "I need to be by myself. I will return shortly."

"Of course, Khalesi," Jorah said, bowing his head slightly as Dany nudged her horse away from the rest of the group.

The girl sighed as she continued through the long grass, following one of the smaller, less defined paths until she was well away from the horde. She knew that the women that followed the horsemen had little problem sitting in direct view of all the men and taking a shit right there but for as much as she was trying to adapt to her new life Dany did not think she would ever be as open as those women who rode about with their breasts exposed and who had no sense of common decency. No, Dany would rather make a short ride away from her brother and Jorah and her husband and do what needed to be done in private, by her lonesome.

Daenerys eased herself from her silver's saddle and looked about once before bending down and digging into the ground with her hands, making a small little bowl in the grainy brown dirt. She had just begun to squat when the grasses to her right shifted and swayed. Dany froze, holding her breath as she waited for the intruder to show themselves. After a few moments she let out a sigh when she saw it was only one of the Dothraki women. Her long hair was crudely braided and her brown leather top and skirt barely covered her tanned body. She could hardly be called attractive, as the hard life she had led left its scars upon her body, but Daenerys had learned that the Dothraki were willing to overlook such things in the name of slating their lust.

"I am fine," Dany said, trying hard not to blush at being caught doing what she was about to do. "I only needed a moment by myself." The Dothraki woman stared at her, not saying a word. Dany knew that she didn't understand a word she was saying and, in turn, Daenerys had no way of explaining to the woman in her own tongue what she was doing. She stood up, pulling up the leather britches she wore. "Tell Khal Drogo that I will return in a moment."

"Drogo," the woman said.

"Yes... Drogo. Please tell him that I will be back soon."

"Drogo!" the woman said fiercely.

Daenerys looked at the woman in exasperation. "I only wish to relieve myself! I do not need the Khal watching me while I do that!"

"Drogo! Drogo!" The woman snapped, adding a few more words at the very end that Dany didn't know the meaning of.

"Enough," Daenerys said firmly, her eyes narrowing. She took a step forward, glaring at the woman. "I am the Khalesi and I will not go with you!"

"No," the other woman said.

Daenerys was startled by this. "No?" she said surprised that the Dothraki woman knew at least one word from the common tongue. Drogo had said no once to her, but she had been unsure if he truly understood what the word meant. He obviously didn't care what it meant, that was clear to her.

"No Khalesi." With that the woman leapt forward, her strong fingers grasping Dany's throat and crushing her windpipe. Daenerys let out a squeak before her throat was sealed, her eyes wide as she flung her arms about. The Dothraki woman's face was a mask of fury, her entire body trembling with rage as she squeezed her fingers tighter and tighter around Dany's throat, forcing the young woman to the ground. The girl tried to claw at the woman's face but her assailant was too strong and to cunning for that, ignoring the pain Dany caused her in favor of keeping a strong grip on the young woman's throat. She refused to give up her grip and Dany found her strength waivering as her vision began to go dark. All sound save a great roar like that of the ocean disappeared and Dany's hands fell limp to her sides, her jaw open and her tongue lulling out as she trembled.

Then, just as the darkness threatened to claim her forever... a second roar filled the air.

Daenerys let out a gasp as the woman was ripped from her and cold air rushed through her bruised throat. She coughed and gagged, fighting not to breathe because it hurt so much but unable to stop sucking in mouthful after mouthful of precious, life-giving air. She rolled onto her side, her body still shaking, and stared at the sight before her, wondering if she were hallucinating it all.

The Dothraki woman that had assaulted her was screaming in agony, her eyes wide as she stared at the stumps where her hands had once been. Standing above her, snarling like a wild beast, stood a muscular man that looked more like a feral dog than a man. His dark hair stood up in great tuffs like the ears of a wolf and his jaw was covered in coarse stubble. A ponytail brushed his shoulder blades, swaying like the tail of a manticore. His thick, meaty arms were bent slightly and his bare chest heaved in and out as he panted. His hands were clenched around the strangest weapons Dany had ever seen. They were nothing like the swords the Dothraki favored for their battles and raids. The stranger's weapons of choice were two sets of triple blades that were connected to a squat steel bar. His fingers were wrapped around this bar so that each of the blade were between his fingers, making it look as if the knives were burst from his hands.

Daenerys let out a hoarse scream as she was lifted up, her eyes wide with fear. She braced for another attack, only for find Khal Drogo wrapping her up in his strong arms, possessively pressing her to his broad chest. It was the kindest he'd ever been to her and she surrendered herself to his touch, sobbing in relief. Dany shut her eyes and soaked in the feeling of safety that Drogo was projecting, allowing it to, for the moment at least, calm her frayed nerves.

"Khalesi!" Jorah shouted, leaping from his horse. He stopped short of coming near her and Daenerys did not fault him; the way Drogo was looking it was clear he was ready to attack anyone that got too close, innocent or guilty. "Khalesi, what happened?"

Dany wheezed, trying to force the words out of her damaged throat. "A...at...atta..."

"Attacked?" Jorah asked. Dany nodded and the exiled man quickly translated for Drogo, who held out his hand and was rewarded with a water skin that he forced into her hands, demanding she drink from. Dany did so, grateful for the cool liquid that soothed her burning throat. The Khal growled, snarling something at Dany's rescuer. Jorah, seeing that Dany wanted to know what was going on, quickly began to translate. "Khal Drogo is asking the rider what happened."

The feral man let out a few bark-like words that Jorah quickly translated. "He says that he saw this one disappear and... smelled?... that she was up to trouble. He found her choking you and pulled her off before... cutting off the... I'm afraid that word is a bit too coarse for your ears, Khalesi... the woman's arms."

Looking down at his victim, the feral man growled something at the woman but she refused to say a word, her body trembling as blood gushed from her wounds. He lashed out, his claws slicing into her shoulder and making her howl. He snapped at her a few times before she replied.

Jorah's lips became a thin white line. "She was jealous of you, Khalesi. She wanted Khal Drogo for herself and thought that if you were dead she could seduce him and claim him as her own."

Drogo pressed Dany tighter to him but she knew this was less about love and more about possession. The Khal was upset one of his own had damaged what belonged to him... namely Dany herself. He turned to one of his men and snapped at them.

"The Khal says the woman must die-"

Before Jorah could finish the feral man lashed out, his claws ripping open the woman's belly and sending her intestines spilling out onto the ground. He snarled, watching her for a moment before striking one last time, slitting her throat and ending her life.

Drogo shifted Daenerys so that she was standing at his side, his heavy arm wrapped around her body, his hand grasping her shoulder. He said a few words and Jorah nodded. "The Khal is telling the man he is in his debt... he says your rescuer may have anything he desires." The feral man growled and Jorah's eyes went wide. "Oh..."

"What... what is it?" Dany asked nervously, finding it a touch easier to talk now.

"He asked... to make the request to you, Khalesi." Jorah stepped to the side and Daenerys watched as the feral man stood before her, crouching so he was looking her in the eye.

"Khalesi," the feral man said. Dany stood in shock, not believing what she had heard. The rider spoke the common tongue! Jorah quickly translated for Drogo as the man spoke. "Let me be your guardian and protector. Allow me to protect you, so that you might never be threatened by filth like that girl ever again."

Daenerys swallowed, utterly startled by the request. She looked over at Jorah who merely nodded. Drogo was giving what could be considered for him a smile. Seeing that neither of them had an objection, the young woman nodded. "I would be… thankful for your protection."

The feral man nodded and stood up, speaking to the Khal for a moment before he when to retrieve his horse. Dany, for her part, waited until Khal Drogo had had removed his arm and returned to his own horse before she spoke. "I… I don't understand. Why did he ask for that?"

Jorah merely smiled at her. "That one… he isn't like the rest of the Dothraki. All of them love the thrill of the fight but that one… he is more beast than man. Little is known about him and he isn't one to talk to others about his past. Until today I didn't even know he knew the common tongue. He drinks too much and is willing to kill at the most minor of slights… but I've never heard of him hurting a woman or child." Jorah lowered his voice to a whisper as Khal Drogo walked along the body of Dany's attacker, spitting on her still warm corpse. "I've heard tales that once, when a city attempted to give Khal Drogo children as slaves that your savior broke ranks and brutally slaughter the city founders. Twenty men died in the span of a minute, their blood staining the ground by his blades only. The only reason he wasn't killed for acting without permission was that Drogo believed that such a display should never be punished."

"What… what is his name?" Daenerys asked. "Or does he even have one?"

"Every man has a name," Jorah stated, nodding towards Dany's feral protector. "And his… is Logan."

~MC~MC~MC~

Author's Note: This chapter was originally not in my plans. In fact, I had not even considered having Dany in this story. But I blame reading too many X-Men Evolution fics for making me suddenly want to include Wolverine in this fic. He just fits so well as Dany's new bodyguard and will allow me to check in on the Princess from time to time.


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